Gambling with a Turk
by loverly zee
Summary: Jalen Zhu joined SOLDIER as a dare. She'd planned to come back after she joined first rank, but things don't always go as planned. Years later, Reno finds her in an abandoned alleyway, eyes glowing blue. Rated M for adult themes. RenoOC
1. I Know Me Best

**A/N**: Quick author's note. Touching up this chapter-it's been over 5 years since I first published this story. I had been so fascinated with this idea and experiment that I didn't take the time to edit before I hit submit. Taking the time now that I'm dedicating more thought to this to focus on the worst offenders. My goal is to minimize the poor grammar, spelling, and facepalm word choices I had first published those many years ago.

Please enjoy and R&R when you get the chance. New chapter will be up soon.

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**1.  
I Know Me Best**

Look, I'll make this short, sweet, and to the point; you can't even _begin_ to comprehend the hell that shook my world until you know what I've done, what kind of person I used to be, and what kind of people shaped who I am. I'll just highlight the important bits because I don't feel like going into detail about it all.

They used to call me cowlick, daredevil, tomboy-anything that might discourage me the slightest bit. They said I was different, crazy even. (Was it really my fault? I thought that everyone heard the voices I heard-I guess I was wrong about that one.) I can't say I blame them though, it's just human instinct-to blow any stupid little insignificance, any tiny bit of eccentricity out of proportion until it actually appears to make a difference. When it boils down to it, none of that matters-I can explain _everything_; you won't get a better description of Jalen Zhu anywhere else, see-I know me best.

Then, I had short hair above my shoulders. See, I'm not quite prone to change so it's still midnight black as it was then, although now, it's falls thick and full down my back. Most days I'd come home from work at the factory all sweaty and exhausted to a point of apathy; I'd sweep my three-inch long bangs to either side of my forehead in a puff of exasperation and forget about them for the rest of the evening. So sure, I guess there's a bit of justice in the nickname "cowlick."

After work most days, the other kids and I would meet up under the big oak tree on the hilltop to play truth or dare-our favorite pastime was my one opportunity to shine, my stage and spotlight. I never turned a dare down no matter how ridiculous the feat. In fact, I remember this one time silly Johny Tadliem dared me to jump from the highest tower in our quiet little Kalm Town to the canopy roof of the melon cart below. He had such fiery challenge burning in his eyes as he threatened my championship "daredevil" title. Naturally, and quite stubbornly, I took up the challenge.

I climbed up the full five flights of stairs of that clock tower at a glacial pace, trembling to myself all the while. As I stood at the top, knees knocking against themselves, I saw the melon cart directly below me, but more importantly, I saw Johny Tadliem smirking in glee. That was the only motivation I needed. Without another thought, I climbed over the railing and propelled myself into the air.

And as I jumped I got caught up in that mid air turn for just one second-but that second was all it took for me to forgot about the dare, forget about the title, and think, as I caught a rare glimpse at the vast green horizon beyond the enclosed fences of our little town, _what if I could fly away __right __now?_ You may think, now there's a strange thing to wonder when you've jumped hard enough to defy the weight of the air for just a second, but that's just how I functioned-always thinking about the next big thing.

Well, gravity got a hold of me anyway, as it usually does, and I went crashing through the nylon roof of the cart, splattered in fruity juices of all colors of the rainbow. The next thing I remember was standing up covered in everything from honeydew to watermelon in triumph; I listened to my peers cheering wildly for me, then passed out.

One broken leg, twenty two stitches, and countless safety lectures later, news of my idiotic feat spread across the town like wildfire. Soon enough, none of the girls in town would talk to me..they thought I was too reckless, too unlady-like, and thus, I got absorbed into the guys' group. No big deal. The whole thing had only two long term affects; first, I have an enormous fear of heights, and second, at very random moments in my life, I'm reminded of the sweet fragrance of honeydew. I think I'm okay with the second one-it's nice to be walking down the street and suddenly be immersed in a sweet honeydew ambiance. I guess this makes all three of the nicknames accurate, huh? But I'm not crazy.

Sure, I used to hang out with the guys, but eventually my hormones kicked in: his name was Martin Holts. He was brilliant, handsome, and funny, all rolled into one. Too good to be true? You wish. That was my Martin, my one and only. I'd do anything for him as I knew he'd do for me. He used to always pick me for his only team member in those idiotic guy versus guy wrestling competitions at the top of the hill. I wasn't as tough as some of them, but I was fast. I'd be so honored I'd put my own flesh and blood _on that line_ just so that Martin and I could be crowned winners with circlets of twigs and daisies (still pretty good if you consider the limited flexibility of the twelve year old imagination). Anyway, Martin would have my back no matter what and together we'd always _own_ the other teams.

However, it was _his fault_, Martin's. For everything. I did it all for him. He doesn't know. Not at all. He doesn't know what hell I suffered with him in mind, for him and his glowing smile. All his fault.

I remember that one day some four years later, the same little Johny who'd dared me to jump onto the melon cart (except many inches rounder), challenged me again to what he claimed to be indisputably impossible. Especially for me, he said, being a girl and all.

"I dare you," he'd started, a familiar mischievous glare in his eyes. I rolled mine to the sky-he'd been trying to deface me in front of Martin since day one. You could say Martin and I were "sparking" at the time, which basically meant every so often we'd spend time away separate from the boys just to sit at the top of the hill and watch the stars mingle with midnight clouds. Yeah, I'm a tomboy and I can be romantic too, but that's not the point. Johny, who'd been Martin's friend since who-knows-when was jealous. He'd do anything in his power to bring me down, so this was nothing new, "to become a first class SOLDIER."

"Aw, come on, Johny," Martin fought in my defense. "What's that gonna do for any of us? You don't have to listen to him, Jalen. He's just messing with all of us." I thought about it. This was my _title_. I wasn't just going to _let go_ of this because I'm a girl and girl's aren't supposed to be admitted to SOLDIER. I mean back then reputations were a _big _thing. Submit once to the norm, and suddenly you're a conformist; turn down a dare once, and suddenly I was a wimp. I wouldn't have it. Another little bit on my mind was that Martin would be pleased, impressed-heck, he might as well ask for my hand in marriage right then and there to see how gallant I'd be.

"Why, she scared?" Johny asked. "You too scared, Jalen, then you can sit it out and be a wimp."

"No," I said. "I'll do it." I only _imagine_ they were surprised because I can't quite remember the response.

The very next day, I stuffed what clothes, money, and food I found in the cupboard into a backpack, I told my mother I'd be leaving (don't think she wanted to deal with my reputation just as much as I wanted to promote it), turned on my heel and left my house. Ma took it just fine. That was just the relationship between Ma and me. She always looked lonely when I was around-as if she were the only one fighting some kind of endless battle. Dad left her even before I was born. I guess that's why when I used to ask about him, she'd scream for me to get to my room, then throw a fit greater than any raging storm. That was the only time we'd ever talk anyway.

Before I left I asked Martin to meet me under the tree on the hill again, just one last time before I took off. He came on time and brought along his warm smile. I remember him holding me like we were old enough to know what love is.

"When do you think you'll come back?" he asked me.

"I don't know," I told him. "Maybe a week, maybe two."

"You really are the great Daredevil," he laughed and I did too. How I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he meant the world to me, but my sixteen year old vocabulary couldn't express the feeling those boiling chemicals inside me were concocting.

Turns out that "week, maybe two" became months, then years-five to be exact during which I broke both my arms in a freak training accident, met the greatest warrior in the world, and then watched him kill my friends as I slid out of consciousness. Isn't it all the same? For everyone who had to know, had to feel.

Sephiroth was _no_ joke.

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	2. SOLDIER

**2.  
SOLDIER**

"Name?"

"Jay Sparrow. Sparrow like the bird," I said, my voice lowered ten knotches under its usual tone. Yes, I have a rather impressive vocal arsenal, and I'd been hanging around the guys long enough to know exactly how to act in this situation. I slouched a bit and a kept a hand in my pocket, to give the appearance that I had to guard something. The boy sitting at the table filed through a few papers in his little cardboard box like hewas the most important person in the world. My ass, this kid looked like he'd just graduated from high school.

"Have I seen you somewhere beore?" he asked me. Yes, I was standing in this exact spot about an hour ago dressed like a girl. You turned me away and I screamed that you'd _fucking pay_ as the guards pull me away by the arms. Now here I am again, in a cap, thick sunglasses, and sagging jeans that could fit three of me.

"Nah, dun think so," I murmured. He took one hard look at me then handed me the registration packet with little hesitation. I'd done it! Martin would have been so proud of me at that very moment. I could seriously not believe that I was on my way to becoming a first class SOLDIER. Was it that easy!? I flipped through the papers in the packet one by one and pulled out a course training schedule which described the process we'd be put through. My heart sunk. I almost quit right there. You've got to be _kidding_ me--on that list was everything from five hour long class lectures to rigorous field tests and medicals surgeries. Attached were several liability waivers and other bodily fluid binding contracts. I almost died on the spot. They were expecting me to do everything from detecting field mines to cutting open some little preserved human to examine his or her insides to get to first class? Holy shit! These guys are crazy!

I kept Martin on my mind at all times. Thought of him would get me through, I was sure. I took a look around me at that point and joined the closest fellow recruits I could find. They were marvelling over the intense training course too. We chatted a little bit, blah blah schedules, blah blah training. Nothing noteworthy, really, besides the rumors that we might get to work with a certain someone who was very well known. Well, orientation passed, tours here and there and welcome lectures that no one paid attention to; finally, we were on our way.

I remember the first time we met him. It was strange, at our first recruit party: blue and red and gray suits were walking, talking, and mingling with red party cups full of alcohol. Everything seemed normal. Even when he slipped into the room, his hands held resolutely at his side, his eyes focused straight ahead at everything and nothing. He was _handsome_--forgive me--almost _seductively_ so. I mean at leeast six foot three, hair brilliant enough to be called silver, and light blue eyes that seemed to emit a misty glow. There was something mysteriously attractive about him, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I felt its presence strong and eerie in the room that night. And it wasn't that he was a legend on a battlefield even though that was quite true.

The atmosphere at the party had suddenly turned cold, and everyone very solemnly turned their attention to his little corner. Chatter was quickly subdued, the music cut, the smiles stiffened. I happened to be by the "punch" bowl at the time, so I mechanically lapped up some drink into a cup and handed it in his direction.

"Thanks," he'd said in a low voice. He didn't smile one bit as he took his drink and took a small sip out of the corner of the cup. I felt his striking presence on me like some kind of omen, but accepted it for what it was. Why? I guess I was just infaturated, starstruck if you will. Everyone was at that time. After he was done with his drink, he set the cup down onto the table and--as steathily as he had entered--left, glancing with fierce eyes once more around the rom. Everyone held his breath. And for a five minute of grace period, no one said a word; it was all too eerie to be true. I glanced over eagering at the recruit I'd met earlier--name was Cloud or something (I personally had a bit of a laught at that)--and he shrugged back at me, and that was that. Every other time I saw Sephiroth I'd recall him standing in that corner, sipping daintily from a red cup, even when he was slaughtering his opponents on the battlefield. Amazing what first impressions can do, huh?

We recruits didn't know what a rough ride we were all in for. Every morning, it was the same, monotonous routine--the only difference that each day, the challenges would get tougher, the battles longer, and the materials more complex. We'd wake before the run rose, and start training from the crack of dawn until night had set in and we couldn't see our own fingertips. We'd start with sprints, five laps around the two-mile track for a warm up--recruit to finish last always "had the honor" of completing three more laps while his colleagues caught their breaths.

Afternoon called for lecture and courses that covered everything from diagnosing game tracks to disease symptoms up to six months in advance of an outbreak. Nighttime called for rigorous field training and tests against dangerous fiends and well-camouflaged traps and explosives. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served somewhere in between. By the time we were done with the day, we'd have no energy left for chat or recreation. We'd head straight for bed and crash until dawn.

In my regiment was the Cloud guy I'd met my first day along with a friend he'd met on his two hour train ride named Zack--along with a few others that I hadn't taken the time or energy to get to know. This Zack fellow was always a rank above us. I mean we still met and spoke casually during our ten minute breaks, but otherwise his training schedule was completely different from our own. Personally, it was difficult for me to make friends with too many people. I was scared--scared they'd find out I was a girl.

Now, not to brag or anything, but I climbed ranks _fast_. In four years I'd already been admitted to first class SOLDIER training. i was working among the best in the _world_; however, I did have to leave Cloud behind. He was always complaining about people, things in his past, things he couldn't change, and all that mental stress, that unbearable pressure he inflicted on himself. It really limited his strengths--held him back from being greater than he already was. Zack and I would encourage him of course, telling him about how close he was to first class and how we were all looking forward to completing our SOLDIER missions together. I did feel bad for leaving him a rank behind, but things were moving so fast that I only had time to focus on the present.

The others thought I was crazy for not getting ride of my uniform. See, first class SOLDIERs don't need that ridiculous chunky uniform with the thick sky blue trousers and the fat ass helmet. No, we get to wear whatever suits us best for combat, usually light, comfortable clothes; however, I kept the uniform. I felt more comfortable with that helmet on and most of my face covered. Not to mention, the constructive yet baggy uniform helped me conceal my growing lady parts.

I knew I had to complete just one more mission to be certified completely, so I picked the easiest one I could think of. Zack and I even convinced Cloud to come along even though he was mostly reluctant, muttering some pish-posh about being embarrassed. I thought to myself then: one more and I am_ out _of here! How hard would it be to travel up a mountain and check out some reactor or something. Soon I'd be back with Martin and we'd be so happy together!

There wasn't a single day I didn't think about him, his smile, his laugh, or how encouraging both were. I felt like I'd be falling all over again, and that's why I was so excited to get back to him. To be back in his arms like I'd been four long years ago as if everything would be exactly the same and we could celebrate under out little ree on the grassy hilltop overlooking our beautiful Kalm Town. That's how things are when you're in love--it's like you own the world and everything makes sense.

This is exactly why its his fault. I did everything for him, thinking it'd be okay; and I still ended up like this--everything so _fucking_ messed up. Can you believe it? Martin couldn't have saved me.

If you even so much as _whisper_, "Nibelhiem" I feel the cold rush again--like an icy fire constricting itself around my lungs, my breathing gets heavy and my legs feel weak. Anything about that damned city and I lose it. You'll think I'm crazy, obsessed, but you don't _know_, you just don't fucking _know_.

Nibelhiem was _hell_.

I can still recall his shrill laughter, ringing, shrieking in my ears. It brings me to my knees. I can still see his delirious glare with those two glowing eyes, burning bright, furious, crazy. And the blade--the way it reflected the lamplight in a crimson tint as it slice through unsuspecting flesh. I'm shaking. My hands are cold and my head feels light. How did it happen? Why me?

I know it! Don't tell me I'm lucky to be alive because I already know it! Reno tells me everyday and we barely agree on anything. That day is still vague to me.

I thought it'd be an easy mission. Sitting in the back of the truck together, Cloud, Zack, and I were chatting away cheerfully about our hometowns and about who we were going to visit during vacation. I was excited! I was on my way to seeing Martin like I'd planned from the very beginning! I didn't mention I wasn't planning on returning after break. They didn't need to know that. They could try and find Jay Sparrow, but he'd be no more after this. Cloud and I in our stupid uniforms sat cross-legged on the truck floor, bobbing up and down with every bump in the road. Zack stood towering above us, wiping the dirt off his blade--he had a childish little smiles on his face, his eyes lighting up with each revolution of the hilt in his palm.

Sephiroth was quiet. He told us he couldn't remember his hometown, or if he even had family for that matter. We remained silent after that. The great warrior Sephiroth had spoken, there'd be no more discussion. His remarks were always peremptory.

From here on things begin to twist. The strings of my memory become tangled in a thick knot, and only randomly do flashes of the past strike me: jumping out of the truck, playing sword fighting with Cloud, meeting our tour guide, watching Cloud become suddenly submissive, the sirens flashing red in the reactor room, the agility of Sephiroth's blade, swiping, throwing everywhere. It's almost as if those very lines of my memory which I'd once been so comfortable with were suddenly charged with electricity, burning and writhing at every touch of recollection of those two days. Did this happen? Or did it not? I don't know anymore. I just don't know.

All I remember clearly was the pain--the shrewd sensation of his cold blade ripping and tearing, clarifying who was innocent and who was guilty with the manner in which he murdered. I can't, no... I can't bring myself back to that day. I'm sorry. I can't.

The last thing I remember before completely losing consciousness was his smirk, his lips thin and cold, mouthing, "Stupid girl." So he had known all along.

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	3. Reno

**3.  
Reno**

_Whatever you do, don't let him see that you're scared..._

_He kills him--slaughters him. First class SOLDIER didn't stand a chance? Quick like needle through thread, pulling back and forth, embroidering his mark in red--through human flesh. The stink of exposed flesh, of death and fear inundating the air. Then he throws him aside like a pile of useless junk._

_NOO! YOU... ZACK..._

_He hears me. He spins around, fire in his ice blue eyes, silver hair flying swiftly against his pivot. Violent flashes of red. Sirens. Noise, like nails on chalkboard. Cries, screams._

_He swipes, he hits. Blood everywhere, my life spilling before me in crimson red. I fly into the air, a million daggers in my chest, caught between my ribs. I am pinned against the wall by his sword. I scream. Noise, bursts of cacophony strangling and suffocating--in my mind. He drops me now. I fall on my heel. I feel my tibula shatter. It doesn't compare._

_Darkness replaces red and everything begins to leave. Spikey blonde hair dashes into the room, but my vision's slipping through the gates of my eyes. His lips, thin, cold, malicious._

_Stupid girl..._

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What I really need is a drink. Some wine would do. I waddled out of the train station, freezing as usual. Hate wintertime. It's so cold where I'm living now, and it's freaking impossible to get from the train station to my front door without freezing my ass off. And then there's that whole struggle about getting my keys out of my pocket with thick, numb fingers. Plus, work today was just awful.

I mean it's one thing dealing with public relation mishaps and unhappy calls from the boss-man all day (Rufus thinks he's all high and mighty now. I swear the kid gets cockier every day) but it didn't help that Elena and Rude were hounding me nonstop either. Don't get me wrong now, Elena is a hard worker, obsessed with her job even, and not to mention _hot bod_, but she's a complete amateur and a total freakin' snob. She always complains about having the "first-date curse"--well, there's a legitimate reason for that. I tell her the truth: that guys who even go on first dates with her just want to see her naked, but get totally turned off ten minutes into coffee. She giggles at me. Thinks I'm flirting. Whatever.

Today she'd been specifically annoying though, telling me about all the neat little gifts Tseng bought for her for the holidays--as if I even cared. Good, I thought to myself, then you won't need any damn gifts from me.

I was pissed, yo. what a crappy day. Press was everywhere! They attacked everyone! And since big dufus Rude was complaining of a bad headache I had to go deal with all this shit myself. I bet he was just lying anyways. I saw him an hour later joking around with Tseng and Elena in the conference room--ha! As if I wouldn't catch him up to his usual no good self.

I struggled with my numb fingers to pull the key out of my back pocket. God damn winter. So cold. I shivered and breathed out heavily. A moist little cloud formed in front of my eyes. So cold. I sighed again. More clouds. Got it! God damn key.

Something clanged in the alleyway and I flinched. Must be the neighbor's cat. That god damn thing was always making a ruckus. I jerked my head down the alleyway, and sure enough, saw the creature climbed onto a trash can and onto the fence. I sighed--clouds--and turned my attention back towards my apartment. I'd finally inserted the key in the keyhole with my numb fingers when the aftereffects of my recollection started kicking in. Was that... what I think it was? I turned my head back towards the alleyway.

Sure enough, there it was: a person sat awkwardly propped up against the wall, limbs limp and sprawled. Um...I hesitated, then decided to act. "Yo!" No response. Should I go check it out? Maybe it was just a homeless person or some other freak come to bother me. But then again... Okay, I thought to myself. Let's look at the situation here. I was basically already one foot inside my apartment and one foot closer to (save for twenty minutes for the heat to kick in) warmth and comfort. Was it worth it? Oh, hell.

I reached an arm through the doorway, slapped the lights on and flipped the switch for the heater, then turned back around and waddled over in the numbing cold to the alleyway, wary as I approached. "Yo!" I repeated. "You awake?" Still no response. I'd come close enough to see that the arch of the person's eyelids were flailed open so that two sets of eyelashes indicated the eyes were open. She was definitely a girl, I could tell that right when I came up. Her black hair was tangled and matted against her back and arms; she was wearing a set of thick and ugly blue trousers, and a white tank top, which was dark and splotchy, wet with water. The weight of the wetness had pulled down the edges of her tank top and I noticed a thick layer of adhesive bound tightly around her chest area and ribcage. "Hey, I'm talking to you. You okay?"

I dared to take a closer look. That's when I realized that that was a SOLDIER uniform and next to her hand was a SOLDIER helmet--and the wetness on her tank top wasn't rain or water--it was blood.

"Fuck," I muttered. "Miss?" Was she dead? Her eyes were open. I think I saw her chest rise with breath. I leaned down over her legs so that I was face to forehead with her--since her head was tilted downward. I thought for a long time. I could check her pulse, but I was scared...what else...?

No. No, no no. It _couldn't_ be. They _wouldn't_. Would they? Very lightly, I place a wary hand under her chin, and very slowly, lifted her face up to the light.

Holy_ fuck_. My god. Holy _fucking_ shit. I almost puked. Her eyes were a brilliant but awkward blue. They were glowing a haunting and lifeless icy blue. It wasn't natural. It didn't match her black hair. You're _fucking_ joking. The _sick_ bastards. The_ fucking sick_ bastards.

I lifted her limp body up into my arms from the ground. She was still warm, the cold hadn't gotten to her quite yet, but it was close. I could tell in the paleness of her skin, and the tint of blue in her fingers. I carried her into my house and dropped her onto my bed. I only thought about the warmest place there was, and if anywhere, it was right there, under the main heating vent, and with those thick goosedown covers. Of all the times I'd carried girls into my room, this had the be the most strangest situation ever.

With the covers pulled aside, I looked at her body. Her wounds were poorly dressed, the ends dirty and gnarled, and already unbinding--that was the first issue to address. I rushed out, snatched up a roll of adhesive, and ran back. She hadn't moved and her skin felt colder than it was just before. Damn heat--it wasn't kicking in yet. I lifted her shirt over her head and redressed her wounds. Health over everything, and I focused _only_ on the wounds. This was no time to be a pervert.

I ran into my closet and grabbed some dry clothes. I rushed back and took off those trousers which were soaked from the recent rain. I had no problem changing her, but my clothes were big for her petite figure.

It was eerie. She had no other cuts on her body. Just that one gash between her ribs. No bruises, no marks, no nothing. Her eyes were rolled at the ceiling the entire time, lifeless but open. Shit. She was getting colder by the _minute_. There was only one thing I could do... I didn't have time to hesitate. I stripped.

I threw off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, pulled off my tie, and took off my pants (boxers don't worry) and told her "Sorry, Miss" before I basically--wow, okay this is awkward--climbed on top of her and wrapped her tightly to my body. I laid there with her for about ten minutes, and hell--it was nice--until I felt her reciprocating heat. She'd be able to keep herself warm after that--and with the help of the heater. I got up and looked down at her, still lifeless like a doll, but warm, and quite pretty. I tucked her in under the covers, buttoned up my collared shirt, and took one last look at her. I can't fucking believe they did that to a girl. _Disgusting_.

What a day. I sighed. Well, she'd be fine now, so I headed for the living room to watch some television. News--specifically--to see if all my effort at work had paid off. As I watched, it seemed to be all good.

And now, for that wine...

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	4. Let Time Mark Why

**4.  
Let Time Mark Why**

_He's alive. Zack's alive. So am I…how?_

_Lights blaze into my pupils, burning, writhing their way into my brain. Fire, burning connective heat squirming in my mind. Struggling. Wiggling. But no movement. Wha—? Who—where am I? _Who_ am I? _

_Frozen in a ray of light, captured in its presence and all else is lost._

_A girl…I hear. How amusing. Made her way through SOLDIER, eh? Then maybe she'll be able to take _this.

_Throttling pain sears through my sides, races to my chest. My mouth doesn't open, but I'm screaming, shaking. Screeches noises, and black, dry nothing. My eyes _see_ in that split second--_

_Needles and machinery._

_Then blank again. Blood rushing in my ears, rivers thrashing against the banks, racking my heart in din. God, let me die. If you exist, if you are merciful, you'll let the next one steal my life. Another prod--_

_Medical Instruments, more tables. Hair? Blonde. Spiky. Unconscious._

_But still alive. Just end it please. No more fighting. No more blood or tears or pain. White flag, please. But still again--_

_And eyes, bleak, black, crazy. Through a pair of oval-shaped spectacles._

* * *

"_Wake up, dear."_

_Why? What's the point?_

Click, static. Click, click, static.

"_You've been asleep for quite some time, little one."_

_But it's comfy…I'll sleep as long as I want!_

Click. A warmth resonates through my legs, manifested as a wiggling block of heart by my calf. Its heat warms like a spark, catching fire in my cheeks and forehead. "Investigations have been conducted of the terrible incident…"

"_Come now, your limbs will be weary."_

_Five more minutes…I was in the middle of an important dream._

More wiggling and a flat toned voice that sounds painfully forced, saying "…no comment so far from the other side of the issue…"

"_Child, how can you possibly know how important a dream is?"_

_Because I said so, now let me sleep._

The block of heat leaves, its warmth lingering tentatively through my limbs. I hear shuffling and—what sounds like—plastic sliding. A breeze begins to stream in and the block returns. My forehead grows hotter. Small beads of condensation cluster above my brow. "Many more questions seem to arise…"

"_Darling, I'm afraid it's not a dream."_

_What? But my eyes are closed._

"_No dear, I'm afraid they're quite open."_

"…about the terrible incident…"

"_And now you must wake and see why."_

"…at Nibelhiem."

Nibelhiem...

Nibelhiem.

FIRE. Whodidthis? Flames soaring, growing, enveloping the sky. Deep blue heavens, twinkling diamonds, Destroyed. Swallowing the skies. Smoke brimmed horizon, reaching like hands into the clouds. Whereishe!? Zack,wheredidyougo!?_ "Hey..." _Fighting, struggling, heat burning—my arms—singed clothes. Too hot to breathe. STOPHIM! Reactors. Sirens, bleeding into my ears, driving, drilling deep into my brain. "_Hey!" _Sephi—Howcouldyou? Blood, fire, its all the same. Ibelievedinyou. Blue lights, prodding, pain. Zack's alive. So am I...how? Stupidgirl.

"_HEYY!"_ the cacophony stops, ceases to an eerie dead silence. "You okay?" I am gasping. I am sweating. But I can't remember anything. It's important, it must be. Everything that had just been pounded through my lobes, the immense memories—it is too much for me to carry, and so it escapes away. "Did you hear me? I said, are. you. okay?" I look up.

I _look_ up. He gazes down at me with peaceful crystal blue eyes that seem to smirk as he speaks—the man in my dream. I keep _looking_. My eyes had already been open, like doors ajar with rusted hinges. I only need to move my chin to see—and that's hard enough. I _look_ at him. He _looks _right back. He's dressed like he's in an office: black slacks, white collar shirt which still has a few buttons to go, and a tie hanging loosely knotted around his neck.

"Wh…" my voice is coarse and uneven, as if forced through a rusted gateway that has not been used in a long time. "Who…are you? Where am I? Where's Zack? Where's Cloud?" I force out. It sounds so foreign to me. Is that really my voice? That hoarse whisper? That sad excuse for noise?

"Whoa, slow down now," his eyes seem to twinkle as he says it. I memorize those eyes immediately: the first pair I have seen in so long. He leans in towards me so that his block of heat presses against my thigh. "Name's Reno. You're in my apartment—and I might add, in my bed—which I would like back whenever you can. And whoa—you have a fever." He retracts his hand gingerly from my forehead and leans over, reaching across my lap for a bowl filled with cold water and a soaked wash cloth. He smells of spice.

He begins to pull the washcloth across my forehead; the water trickles down my cheek, but he catches it with the cloth. I can feel the tension grow. It's awkward. I don't know this person, and with a little effort, I bring the back of my hand against his and push him away. My arm hurts, and he looks surprised, but it's worth it. I can't remember much right now, but one name I do remember, and that's Martin.

"Okay…" he says slowly. "Do it yourself then." He turns away toward the television, which I just start to notice is by the foot of the bed I'm in. I reach for the cloth he set aside and lift it with some effort. A searing pang flashes through my arm muscles and the cloth drops to my chest. This...Reno character doesn't notice. Or he notices and decides not to care. "So," he says abruptly and turns to face me. "What happened?"

I blink. "What happened?" I repeat. I can feel my voice swelling again in my throat, ready to go. If only my mind would follow up. "What...happened..." His eyes narrow.

"Yeah. Don't tell you just enjoy sitting in alleyways in the freezing cold," he scoffs. I blink again. When did I...? _Throw her away! The cold was seeping in through my pants, leaking through to my skin, dancing in my bones. This was it. My helmet dropped to my side and lay motionless against my legs. This is how I go. The cold would take me. What would Martin think? Martin. And that's when I felt myself being lifted. Martin? A cloud of red hair and suddenly...heat._ "Yo! You even listenin' to me?"

"Martin..." I whisper, and he gives me that look again, like I'm daft.

"Right...so... how did you end up in my alleyway?" He glances away for a second. My eyes follow: a clock that reads six. "Hold that thought. I gotta catch a train. So, listen. This is my apartment, get on your feet, but don't mess anything up. You can wear my clothes. Okay? Bye." He turns to leave.

"Wait!" I call after him. When he turns to look at me, I become self-aware, and notice that the washcloth is still on my chest and soaking through my shirt. "How long…?"

"I found you about a week ago," he says while buttoning up his collar. "You've been—I don't know—asleep, awake, whatever you want to call it, unconscious or something until now. Bye." I hear his hurried steps lead down the hallway. Then a door opens, shuts, and suddenly, I'm alone. For some reason, I miss him. What? What nonsense. I shake that feeling away. Time to think.

What happened? He had asked me. What happened... I fold the washcloth and set it aside. What happened... _FIRE. Flames soaring, enveloping the sky._ What... _Deep blue heavens, twinkling diamonds, Destroyed. ..._happened... _swallowing the skies._

I gain some strength back in my arms and peel the covers away from my legs. Nothing seems to be damaged, so I swing my legs over the side of the bed carefully and dangle them very lightly onto the carpet so that there's no pressure on the toe of the heel. Easy now... I ease my weight onto both my legs. There doesn't seem to be any pain, so I stand. Suddenly, hot pain shoots up my right heel and through to my knee. I fall. _He drops me now. I fall on my heel. I feel my tibula shatter. It doesn't compare._

The carpet feels rough against my cheek. My senses feel so new. Asleep, awake, or whatever for one week. I ease myself up with my sore arms and take a deep breath. I don't know why my leg hurts so much, but it really hasn't hit me yet that it'll be a major disadvantage in my recovery. And in my quest to return to Martin. What happened...?

"_Stop trying to remember..."_ I smile. This sweet, sing-song voice is familiar to me. It rings within my ears, loud and clear, but I'm not making it up, this I can promise you.

"Wh-what? Why?" I ask. My voice is still sore.

"_Maybe you'll learn later on. It's time to focus on the present and the future. Get out of those bloody trousers, child."_

"Oh... alright then. He said I could wear his clothes, I guess it's worth a shot." I lift myself up with my arms, the strength seems to be coming back to my muscles. All those years spent training weren't in vain. I prop myself up onto on leg and lean against the drawers. Hey, this could be fun. I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull the top drawer out: boxers. Hm... don't imagine myself wearing any of those anytime soon. Next one down: shirts. I scrounge around with my hands and grab the first thing my hands rest on: a black T-shirt that says "kiss the Turk" in bright letters across the chest. Whatever that means. Next drawers: pants.

Reno's hips must be pretty slender because all of his pants could potentially fit me. I reach in and pull out a pair of sweats. Yay for comfort. With a bit of an effort, I change into these clothes and then sit myself back down on the edge of the bed. All of this movement has made me dizzy, and I lean my head back down onto the pillow. The comfort of the warm blankets seep into my muscles, but I don't close my eyes. I'm too scared to fall asleep. I'm too scared to dream. I'm too scared to possibly not wake up again. _Whatever you do, don't let him see that you're scared._

Some time passes, but I don't keep track of how much. Time means nothing right now, just a pointless marker on why and how until something important comes along.

"_How is your leg?"_

"Hm...? Oh...it's alright I guess," I say and pull up the bottom of my sweats. There aren't any actual marks on my right leg, but any pressure on it and I feel the pain. Maybe it's internal? Now that's a little scary to think about. _Don't let him see that you're scared._ "It would be nice to know what happened though."

"_You're not quite ready to remember yet."_

"Hey, I didn't say I was going to try," I say. I hear the door down the hallway click, and glance up at the clock, it's already 7 P.M. "I just said it would be nice." I finish my point in a bit of a whisper as I hear shuffling down the hall.

"Yo!" I hear Reno call. He pokes his head into the room, looking at me with his smirking blue eyes. Then, the rest of his body sways into the doorway. He's carrying a large paper bag that seems full, and his tie is undone and hanging over his shoulder. "Who you talking to?"

"No one," I say quickly. I can remember that I was so teased when I was little about hearing those 'voices' that I learned to keep my mouth shut about them. "I...was just exercising my voice." Exercising my voice? Well...it's nice to know that my brain is...slightly...working again--enough to make up an excuse I guess. A bad one though.

"Right." He gives me a weird look, then rustles around in his brown bag. "So, you were talking to yourself. Anyway, I bought food. I hope take-out's okay."

"What? Um…yeah I guess it's fine." Food. I haven't even thought about food until now. He starts to pull out small white boxes from the bag and two pairs of chopsticks.

"You wanna go to the kitchen or just sit there?"

"Wha? Oh. No. My leg hurts, or else I would've walked around." He shrugs and hands me a box. It's warm. I smell the fragrance before I even open the box. I've forgotten what food tastes like. I can't remember the last time I've eaten.

"Eat up," he says, and plops down in front of me with his own box. I break the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and pick up my first bit of food. The warmth of it in my mouth feels so good, and the taste—my god. I can't believe the taste. I take another bite, and then another. "Wow… calm down, geez." Reno reaches for the remote control on the pillow next to me and flips the television on. He smells like spice. "Anyway… Rude won't stop being an asshole. I got some coffee with Elena today to avoid dealing with the press coverage. Flew around in the helicopter, said I was scoping out where those two fugitives went, but Rude still found some way to make me tango with publicity. I'll get him though, then he'll see, the tricky bastard. I don't care how bad a headache he has…"

Why is he telling me all of this? Who is Rude and who is Elena, and what publicity? What two fugitives? I don't know anything about this. "Stop," I say, swallowing the delicious food in my mouth. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Oh," he says, takes a bite, and swallows. "My bad. When you were asleep or whatever, I would just tell you about my day. It's nice to have someone to listen."

"Well stop," I say. "It's weird."

"Oh!" he scoffs. "And talking to yourself _isn't_ weird?" It's quiet for a minute. That was rude. I frown. It's quiet; no one apologizes. He finishes his take-out a little after I do. I look at him as he closes the top of his box and mine and puts them both back in the paper bag along with our chopsticks. He notices me watching. "What?"

"Is there more food?" I ask. He laughs. "What! I haven't eaten in ages." He shakes his head.

"No," he says without remorse and shuts off the television. I barely noticed it was on. "Let's move on." He's blunt, it kind of bothers me. "You remember what happen yet?"

"_Just tell him you haven't recalled yet. You're not ready to remember."_

"I know, I know," I mutter.

"You know what?" he asks. My eyes widen. My mistake. I completely forgot. Where in the world is my mind? Where is my logic and common sense? I must not have recovered it yet.

"Nothing. I don't remember," I say. He gives me that weird look again. I start to notice his features. The best way to describe Reno is sharp. His features are sharp, his look is sharp, and his movements and words are sharp. The dim lighting in his room is flattering on him. It makes him almost attractive. _I kept Martin on my mind at all times._ No… what am I thinking? I love Martin. He's the only one that appeals to me.

"Let's start with something a bit easier… since it seems like all that sleep has been messing with your brain," he says. How rude. "You remember your name?"

"Yes."

"Right, well I'm waiting. What is it?"

"You don't have to be so mean. What if I don't want to tell you my name?" He squints his eyes at me.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"_How can you trust him?"_

"How can I trust you?"

He scoffed again, then leaned forward towards me so close that my nostrils filled with his scent. Spice. His eyes flutter down like he's looking at my lips. I feel the pull in his eyes. Don't go in for the bait, I tell myself; no matter how much of my mind I've lost. I don't know this person. "I could've left you in the cold in the alleyway," he says softly. "But I carried you in and gave you my _bed_. My goddamn sanctuary." He leans back a little more, and his voice raises. The tension simmers. "I took care of you, kept your fever down. Did I mention I let you have my _bed_? Oh. And by the way, you're still in it." I suddenly miss the pull. Miss his face so close to mine. _That was my Martin, my one and only._ No!

"I didn't ask you to!" I say. He's quiet, and just looks at me with those blue eyes. The pause is a bit eerie. Maybe I was in the wrong... I just couldn't get the picture of his eyes out of my head and--agh--just snapped. I stare right back at him. "My name is Jalen."

"Pretty name for a pretty face," he chuckles. His eyes sparkle, but he soon looks away. I see his profile and watch the light flicker across his cheekbone, dance onto his lips, and dip onto his chin. I _want_ to trust him, but I'm no judge in trust now. Only time can decide that. So let time begin to matter. Let time mark why.

* * *

**Hey all. Sorry about the lack of updates. Just took some exams, applied to some schools. And now I'm back:) **

**This chapter is supposed to be a little scattered, like Jay's senses are all jumbled and start to come back to her more near the end. Basically, sorry if the italics are kind of hard to understand. And the voices she hears should come into play later on if I don't decide to change my original storyline... Oh, I just finished reading **_**The Sound and the Fury**_** by William Faulkner (BEST FREAKING BOOK EVER), so his style kind of reflects in mine right now.**

**Some parts are lacking, but it's a slow chapter overall...like introductions kind of; I might go back and change some stuff. The others will be more interesting, promise.**

**Tell me what you think!!**


	5. What Those Eyes Have Seen

**5.  
What Those Eyes Have Seen**

_Jay? What about you?_

_Bump in the road, our heads bob and our bodies dip, but the conversation rolls on. Plip, plop, I hear the rain tap dance on the truck's windshield and the wipers swish back and forth like a metronome to its performance._

_Hah, I got a sweetheart waiting for me back in my hometown..._

_She a babe? Zack. Such a joker. We laugh, the laughter convulses through my ribcage and out my throat. It feels good._

_Yeah, she's one hell of a babe, I say. We laugh again. Sure, Martin's a babe. I look over; Cloud's staring at me blankly with his large blue eyes, and I feel myself shut up. _

_You got anyone to return to? Zack asks. His eyes flutter from Cloud to Zack. Then back to the ground of the truck._

_I have no family. Nor hometown, he says. Silence follows. His flaring blue eyes point out the window through the shield of long silver hair. Suddenly, the truck bed throttles. I'm thrown to the floor. _

_Something on the windshield!_

* * *

Four more days without my bed. Then, she could walk again—limp, more like. Then, seven days back in my bed under the soft sheets. Altogether: fourteen days since Jalen showed up in my alleyway. Fourteen days without real female _company_, if you catch my drift—no good _satisfaction_. And goddamn, the consequences, they're starting to mess with my logic. Tramp walks down the street and I drool. What the hell, yo? I have classier taste than that, but now, even one of those would do.

Morning of the fifteenth day and only six hours of sleep the night before. Life as a Turk has recently been difficult no thanks to Shinra's new Nibelhiem: Rebuild & Rewrite project. I roll onto my side from under the covers. What a restless night. There's so much building inside of me that I can barely get a good night's sleep. Usually I'd vent through a willing lady but not anytime soon because Jalen's in the house. Don't get me wrong. I am no man whore, but ladies? Not a problem for me.

Jalen's sleeping on the couch of the living room as I enter. That room and the kitchen are connected, no boundary but a counter with a sink. Not my fault if she wakes up. I shuffle through the cabinets, looking for my favorite mug. My apartment. She'll wake if I will it. She stirs and her eyes blink open. Green-blue marks—reminders of the horrors they've seen. She groans.

"What's with the racket?" she mumbles.

"I'm getting ready for work and I have a question," I say. This has been our routine now for the last two weeks. Easy questions in the morning, hard ones at night. It keeps us from arguing with each other…most of the time. So far I've discovered basically that her favorite color is red, she likes vanilla ice cream, and her favorite time of day is dawn. This girl is headstrong; she's stubborn. She argues like she's got something to really fight for, like there's some strangling battle inside her chest. I'm not going to go into it. She just got out of the biggest mess so far of the century.

"What?" she's half asleep still, but she sits up. She's got bed-head; makes me smile. Makes me wonder what she would look like after a night of…never mind. Doesn't run well with my question either. Goddamn testosterone.

"You got a boyfriend?" I chuckle. Okay, I'll come clean, yo. I've considered it. She's skinny sure, kind of a flat ass, but fair-sized upper features. Broad, elegant shoulders. Would look good bare framed against my bed sheets. Something that baffles me is her facial features. She has black hair, she should've had brown eyes had it not been for the Mako treatment, but her features are anything but oriental. Her eyes are wide and engrossing, curious, and not the least bit slanted. Her cheekbones rest at a pleasant distance between her eyes and jawbone, giving her face a long but round shape. Anyway. I asked, just for kicks.

"Er…well, kind of," she says.

"How can you_ kind of_ have a boyfriend." She blinks at me. "You are _weird_, yo." She frowns. It's early, but she's ready for a fight already. She stands and limps over in my direction. I see the way her hips sway as her slender figure walks …god, stop it, Reno. Just give me one goddamn night and a girl, any girl. Goddamn it. Not Jalen. Can't nail a girl who just got out of Hojo's lab—_kind of_ boyfriend or not.

"Well…I did, I do…it's been since…I joined SOLDIER," she says as she stands next to me. "And I am _not_ weird. _You_ are the weird one."

"Whoa! _I'm_ weird? Do, enlighten me."

"Have you_ looked_ in the mirror? What is with the mane?"

"Hell no. Not the hair. Don't you _dare—_"

"Dare!" she yelled suddenly. Yep, definitely weird, yo. "I never turn down a dare."

"What the hell are you…? I gotta catch a train. You're _insane_." I grab my coat, she grabs my arm.

"I joined SOLDIER as a dare," she says, almost desperately.

"Ja—"

"Jay. Was what I went by. Only one person found out I was a girl, and his name was Cloud," she said. It was quiet for a moment. I didn't really know what to say because I knew she was trying hard to remember, but hell—I was going to miss my train.

"Look, Jalen. Keep thinking about it, really. I gotta go to work. There's food in the fridge, you can handle until I come home, bye," I turn to leave, and as I close the door I can see her still standing where I left her, her eyes wide in thought, and something else…she's looking at me as I close the door... almost like I've betrayed her or something. I feel a pang of guilt as I close the door. But that's it. No one stops _me_ from going to work. I don't care _how fine_ some chick is—work means work. The only thing that could keep me from doing my high-salary job is if some chunk of space was about to crash and destroy the world. Hah! Like that would ever happen.

I catch the train—it's a long ride, and I'm restive. I keep eying the girls that walk by my seat. There's one with nice round breasts sitting diagonal from me and I can't stop staring. How badly I just want to…It could be in the bathroom. It could be quick. My god, this has got to stop.

I get to the office and saunter to my office like there's nothing bothering me. Tseng's standing in front of my office. "Reno, mission. Here." He walks away, sticking a pile of manila folders into my hands.

"Yeah, great chat, Tseng. Lots of bonding," I call after him. I unlock my office, toss the folders on the desk, and head down the hall to Rude's office. What do Turk's do? We do the dirty work. Assassinations, intelligence, Rufus's little errands, everything. This job's not just _any_ job. We _are_ Shinra's fucking foundation. They build their empire off of our work. Besides, the pay, is pretty fucking amazing. And I do my job _well_. "Yo. Who stuck a pole up Tseng's ass?"

"Work. You should try it." Rude. Solid as stone; never breaks his composure. I lean with my back against the doorway and smirk in the direction of my serious comrade.

"First of all, it was a rhetorical question. Second, I _do_ do my job. Work and women, my two fields of expertise. Isn't that right, Rudy-boy?"

No response. He knows I'm right.

"Funny man, Reno," Tseng walks up behind us. "Now stand up straight, I'm going to brief you, and you'd better pay attention." I give him a bit of a snarl. "Two experiments have escaped from Hojo's lab as you know. They've injured many in the process. Your job is to locate them, and assassinate them."

"Oh, like playing darts, sounds like fun," I joke.

"Reno. Would you take something seriously for once," he mutters. "If the public discovers these experiments, you'll be sleeping in this office for months. Now get in the helicopter and find them. You'll signal back to headquarters when you've spotted them, and we'll send a team in to carry out the assassination from your aerial pinpoint." He leaves.

"Metal pole, I am tellin' ya," I say to Rude as soon as Tseng's out of earshot. "Well, Rudy-boy. You know what that means, yo." Rude doesn't make a noise, but I know he's pissed. "Enjoy the press room, baby. I'm taking the skies." I spring from his doorway and saunter down the hall.

I see Elena walking in my direction. There's no one around, so I grab her by the shoulders and spin her against the wall. "Hey, Lena. Busy?"

"Reno! Is this your idea of a joke!? Get off of me!"

"Aw, you look cute when you're all angry like that. Want to take a ride in the helicopter with me?" She looks taken aback. Thinks I'm taking her out on a date. Okay, that's it. If I don't get a piece of ass soon, I'm going to have to pin Elena. And Shiva knows the consequences of that shit.

"Uh…sure," she says. We suit up, get in the skies, but my mood's over. I can't stand her voice, can't stand anything she says, and now, I regret my rash actions. "What are their names?" she asks me.

"What?"

"What are the fugitive's _names_," she repeats.

"You think if we poke our heads out the windows and yell all cute-like 'hello Zack and Cloud, we've got tea and biscuits if you show us where you're hiding' they're gonna be willing to come?" I scoff. "Use your head, rookie. We're starting our search from above Hojo's lab. Now get with the program. Look for blonde and black hair or blue helmets"

"You asked me to come, you could be courteous."

"Honey. Baby. Remember who I am? Besides, I brought you along just to look at. You're a pretty piece of work." She doesn't respond. I glance over at her out of the corner of my eye and smirk. Is she flattered? God, I need to get this out of my system. We fly around for a while, but it's no use. "Alright. This isn't working. They're obviously hiding in the daylight. We're going back."

We get back to headquarters and I leave Elena in the hall to go into my office. Computer, on. Manila folders out. Cloud Strife. I type his name into the experiment database. Being a Turk, I have access to ridiculously confidential information. I hit print. Now for Zack. Print again.

I wonder…

I look out the window. No one's paying attention to what I'm doing. I type in "Jalen." Searching, searching. Match found. A file pops up, headed with "Jalen Zhu." Attached is a picture of a young girl, long black hair and smiling, warm brown eyes. My god. The difference these experiments have made on her. I hit print before anyone sees.

Time to collect. I jump out of my seat and rush to the printer. Tseng comes in, "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, just those experiments, more files. Couldn't find 'em today, boss-man. I'll find them tomorrow." He gives me a weird look, glances at the papers I'm printing, and then exits. I grab the papers that have finished printing and stuff them into my suitcase—the one I never actually use and put in my office for just-in-case instances like these.

It's five. No special hours today. I pack up my stuff, lock my office door, and give Lena a wink on my way out. On the train ride home, I pull out Jalen's files.

Jalen Zhu. From Kalm Town. SOLDIER first class; a female that has infiltrated the elite military academy. Shame on Shinra. Couldn't spot her feminine features? Or too scared to discriminate in a changing era? Brown eyes, black hair. Height 5' 7".

Mako treatment experimentation: full body Mako infusion, dissection and organ and blood analysis. Hojo scribbled notes onto her file. It reads something like:

_The treatments of this interesting specimen have intertwined with her bloodstream and made her extremely vulnerable to the cold. On the other hand, further analysis of its effect have shown that the subject has an increased sensitivity to touch and sight._

Then:

_We will not be carrying on with the organ analysis, as it seems this subject has already reached its full potential. Its usefulness has run its course. This specimen will be terminated in December._

So they wanted the cold to get her… but I found her. In my alleyway in the beginning of December. How long as she been in the lab? I look at the picture again. Those eyes, once warm, now cold. What those eyes have seen, I cannot imagine—to make them so bleak, so full but empty. At the very bottom of the page in small letters it says, "There are other files that apply to subject Jalen Zhu, but not on this database." Damn. Next time, then.

When I get back into the apartment, she's sitting on the couch watching television, wrapped in a blanket.

Wine. I need wine. I pour a glass for myself and take a seat next to her, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table in front. I take a sip. Not really quite strong enough for my day. I take the whole thing down. Drink fast and maybe it'll do. I get up and pour another glass.

"Why are you drinking so much?" she asks me.

"Long day, need a break," I sigh. "Okay. Tell me what you know."

"I didn't say I trusted you yet," she replies, her tone resigned and blunt. I roll my eyes, another glass it is.

"Look, Jay-len. You've been in my apartment for two weeks, and I have not harmed or offended you in any way. Why the hell would I start now?" I say.

"You have too offended me; you're just too thickheaded to notice," she shoots back.

"_Excuse_ me?!"

"Besides. I want to know about you first. Where do you work?" I take another swig. Why is she acting like such a god damn bitch.

"I work for the government." That's not a lie.

"What kind of work…?"

"In an office. I'm in the street structure and road development department." That's definitely a lie, but that's part of the job too: lying. I'm a Turk. I do the most work in this government. And I get my job done, no matter _what_ or _who_ stands in my way.

"That's really boring."

"Alright then, your _majesty_." Sarcasm intended. "Where the hell have you worked?"

"SOLDIER. First class. If you hadn't run out on me in the morning, I would've told you more." I start to say something, but she cuts me off. "—and don't go and give me some lame excuse about catching your train. You can't say you didn't stand waiting for its arrival for at least five minutes." I stop. I _did_ wait for somewhere about five minutes. How the hell does she know? That's pretty freakin' creepy.

"You are_ weird_."

"No I'm _not_! You don't _know_ me, don't call me weird!"

"Then LET ME." I've lost my temper and she knows it. She doesn't have anything to argue with. "_Let me_ get to know you. Don't start shooting insults at me while I'm _trying_ to get to know you. Who the _hell_ do you think you are, yo?" She doesn't say anything.

"Don't call me weird," she says after a long pause. I take another swig.

"Don't expect me to beg or something. If you don't want to talk to me then fine. I'm going to bed," I say and put the glass down. I turn to head down the hall.

"My name is Jalen Zhu," she says. I stop and sigh.

"I know, yo. What else can you tell me," I go and sit down next to her. She's huddled up in that blanket, her knees held close to her chest and she seems to be shivering, even though it's really not that cold, a good 67 degrees Fahrenheit.

"I was known as 'daredevil' in my hometown because I never turned down a dare. I left Kalm at sixteen because my peer dared me to become a first class SOLDIER. And I did it. They called me Jay Sparrow. Only one person discovered I was a girl and his name was Cloud Strife," she says calmly, almost reluctantly, like doing so was waving a white flag, and she wasn't ready to call off the Armada.

"I see," I say. She averts my eye contact. What is _with_ this girl? All the girl's I've ever known would be dying to stay a night, clawing their way to get into my apartment, but Jalen couldn't stand being here. I look at her. She locked up like she's in a shell, some invisible barrier or cage that she lets no one near. Not even the person who saved her life in the first place.

"Our last mission, my last mission… before becoming an honorary first class SOLDIER was just to… I don't remember clearly…to check some kind of reactor," she mutters. "Anyway, that's as far as I got today."

She was at Nibelhiem. What now, Reno? Provoke it outta her? _Tell_ her what happened to her next? _Make_ her remember?

Not tonight, baby. I'm off duty, yo. And this wine is starting to put me in the mood. Better sleep before I pounce on her.

"Okay." I say. "Goodnight, Jalen." I stand to leave, she stands from under the covers—still wearing my T-shirt and sweats.

"Is that it? I spill all I know to you and I get an 'okay'?" she says. She looks like she wants to fight. I eye her. I can't help it, yo. I walk over to her and lean in real close like, so I can almost feel her breath on my lips. I can barely control it—

"Wanna kiss and make up?" I smirk. She isn't backing away either—too stubborn. "Oh, but you have a _kind of_ boyfriend, don't you." I grin. She can probably smell the wine on my breath. I don't care. I am ready to _go_. I will score on this chick if I want. I wrap a hand around her waist and take another step closer. She looks flustered. It's kinda cute, but I don't care if it'll get me points. "I can keep you warm tonight."

She smiles, I see her grin. She's looking at my lips like she wants it. There's a sparkle in her eye, a dangerous kind of gaze, and I feel her palms sweep up my forearms. The tingling runs up my spine. God I can't _control_ myself. I press my hips against hers. She leans her jaw in a little closer and breathes a soft moan. _Score._

But then she pulls back.

"You're hammered," she says, her smile fading, and pushes me away with a well aimed punch against my chest. "Goodnight." She crawls back under her blanket and hugs her arms around her injured leg.

What the _hell_? What a goddamn _tease_. I'm a little taken aback. _No_ girl in her right mind rejects me. I am Reno the Turk. Infamous in bed. I am a _sex god_ I make the most _experienced _bitches scream my name. What the _fuck_. Who the _fuck_ is this girl.

I turn on my heel, go into my room, and then call, "I'll get you for that, bitch!" And slam the door. You don't _mess_ with _me_. The war is on.

* * *

**A/N AH! Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm really really glad that you like it! Like, REALLY glad. **

**About this chapter, hopefully you enjoy it. It's supposed to be from a very guy-ish point of view--well, Reno's really. And Reno's quite a sexy character. **

**Recently, I haven't had much free time because of college applications and examinations, so I had (and still do have) a lot of resignation about continuing to write this story. **

**What do you think, reader? Should I keep going?**

**R&R! I'll reply to reviews.**


	6. Warfare in its Lowest Sense

**6.  
Warfare in its Lowest Sense**_  
_

_Jay?_

_Just a scratch! They laugh. Sword clang together, metal beats to their operative dance. The training room begins to spin. I slide a finger under my shirt against my ribcage and feel the sticky wet liquid leak from a deep flesh wound. _

_I dash out. The tiles are pale blue ahead of me, splattered with red like oil paints behind, painting my escape through to the bathroom. The only mirror's covered in scratches._

_Boys. But my subconscious screams. BLOOD!_

_I lift my shirt, right beneath where I bind my breast, a deep gash, pouring blood down my stomach._

_Oh god. The door swings open._

_Jay, are you...? We make eye contact. I pull down my shirt. Oh, my god_

_Cloud! No! Cloud!_

_Oh my god, Jay. You're a... I push him inside a stall. Our bodies collide and he staggers._

_Cloud, you cannot tell anyone. Cloud. Cloud! I can't go to the medic._

* * *

If it's war he wants, it's war he'll get. I'm a fucking first-class SOLDIER. War is my forte.

I wake up later than usual. Reno didn't wake me up to ask me some silly question—that was the first sign of irregularity. Probably because I gave him a_hard_ time last night and then sent him to bed alone. He doesn't know, I've wrestled with the boys, learned their lingo, and taken a dive into their dirty minds. I know boys like him they like it, and I know how to use it. Makes this kind of war all the more interesting. However, it _was_ a tad it odd waking up without anyone in the room. I guess I've become familiar with Reno's morning routine. I feel a little empty, even.

But only for that second.

My fingers are cold. I begin to realize how chilly it is. I roll myself in a woolly blanket and stumble over to the kitchen area, ignoring the stinging cold tiles under my toes. I reach for the cabinet and pull out a mug with "TURKS DO IT BEST," pour some hot water into it. I sit back down onto the couch and recline, flicking the television on with the remote control.

Static? I flip a few channels. Static.

"What happened to the cable?" I asked myself aloud, and, surprisingly, heard the answer in that singsong voice.

"_You must've really upset the poor guy."_

"He unplugged it? And what, are you on his side now?" I set the remote control down and waddle back towards the kitchen.

"_No, but show him some respect. He gave up his privacy for you. He's obviously feeling lonely."_

"Yeah? Well I'm not the medium through which he should try to reflect that feeling." I opened the cabinets again: silverware, plates, napkins... The fridge, then. My fingers shake at the cold air. Drinks. Beers. Milk. Orange Juice. Hey—there was takeout in here the day before.

"_Okay, well you know you like him at least a little bit."_

"He hid the _food_. What kind of joke is this!"

"_You're changing the subject, and he _did_ say it was war."_

"War without rations? That's unfair!" I waddle back to the couch and shiver; I feel so useless now. I can't watch television, no food to eat, and goddamn it, why is it so cold? I go over to the heater and try to switch it on by pressing the button I always press, and to my (not really) surprise, it's asking me for a _password_ now. What the hell! It's never done that before! "I hope he feels guilty when I freeze to death!"

"_Now, don't say things like that! Just apologize to him before anything worse happens."_

"No," I say curtly and go over to his room. "He wants war, I'll give him war. Warfare in its lowest sense..." I shut the door behind me and start to dig, through blankets, drawers, curtains. I need some kind of clue as to how Reno works.

I know how to hit him where it hurts. He'll be sorry he picked a fight with me.

* * *

"What's with all the takeout, Reno?" Tseng asks.

"A feast for you, boss-man," I snicker while taking a gulp of last night's chow mien. "Encouragement to get that stick up outta your ass."

"Reno," Tseng sighs. "Grow up already. And find those experiments."

"Say what you want, Tseng, but really. _Who_ does their job better than me? Hm? Hm? No one. That's right. And don't you forget it," I slurp another mouthful of noodles and kick my heels onto my desk. Tseng shakes his head at my behavior, but snatches up a box of takeout and leaves my office. I watch him go, the smile curving off of my lips, and snake my fingers towards the keyboard.

_There are other files that apply to subject Jalen Zhu, but not on this database._ Alright, Jay, let's see who you _really_ are. Username: RENOwhatastud. Password: numberoneturk. Last name search: Zhu. There were obvious objections to my username when I created it. Something about not looking professional, but hey, the truth is what it is. I can't help that I was born this devilishly good-lookin'.

Three files appear: her file from Kalm town; her mother's file; and something under the category "CC." What the hell is that supposed to be? I click it.

Fffff-_uck_.

She's a Cetra candidate.

* * *

"_You like him, don't you?"_

"No. I don't."

"_You have to admit, you do a little bit."_

"I love Martin. I do not like Reno."

"_You haven't seen Martin in forever. And besides, the flaming red hair, the attitude. You're attracted to it!"_

"What's your name, anyway? Have I ever asked you?"

"_You're changing the subject."_

"Well what is it?"

"_You _do_ like him, I knew it!"_

"It's A-something isn't it? Aris? Aeries? Arie..."

"_He can be rather handsome under the right light."_

"No. He wouldn't accept me."

"_Why not?"_

"I hear voices. I hear you. He doesn't seem like the type of person to just let that go."

"_You never know."_

* * *

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Who the hell did I invite into my home? She doesn't talk to herself. She talks to other Cetra. She hears them, and talks to them. Oh god. There is no line between duty and morality for my job. It's all duty, obligation. I was just starting to think she wasn't so bad too. It's kind of enjoyable the way face she makes when I wake her up in the morning. She's not so bad at night when we're just sitting and watching TV. I'm even enjoying this war we're in.

Oh god. What the fuck am I talking about? I'm a fucking Turk. She'll go right back to Hojo. I don't know what'll happen after that, but I'm the best goddamn Turk there is.

I have to turn her in. I have to.

Just then, the train arrives. I'm on my way home.

* * *

**HI SORRY FOR THE LATENESS. Slow chapter. Setting up some... drama.**

**And getting back into the groove of things.**

**i WILL update REAL soon, promise.**

**Next chapter, things pick up. LIKE CRAZY. and get... interesting... if you know what i mean ;)  
**

**R&R**


	7. A Different Red

So, learning to put the note at the BEGINNING of the chapter? A lot of stuff happens in this chapter--it's a regular whirlwind of emotions here. Writing this chapter for me wasn't exactly planning out WHAT should happen next--because I think we all know it's time Reno got a little_ action._

More so, it was trying to figure out how _FAR_ said action should go. And call me a liberal, but I went all the way. So sue me, I've never written a sex scene before. I tried to make it interesting though--that is, from a girl's pov. I guess part of it will be in Reno's perspective next chapter ;) So, I guess you'll have to read and see for yourself!

I appreciate all the comments so far--the last one wasn't really anything to comment on though. This one is.

OKAY, on to the chapter.

R&R

* * *

**7.  
A Different Red**

_Test specimen 3 has failed to respond. _

_Sirens, sporadic red flashes glazing across the metallic lining on the floor._

_My fingers are ice, unmovable, dead weight connected to the rest of me by a dangling limb. My toes are numb, unfeeling; the pinpricks began to melt into a similar icy bleakness, tip-tapping away at my soul._

_They prod. And again. Flickers of sight dance forward and back in my open eyes. That table, those constraining belts, Cloud's hair. All stricken within the same second._

_Noise, screams, yelling, cacophony blazing through my eardrums, beating against the walls of my mind. And the loudest, my own. But the softest, my own._

_Test specimen 3: body temperature drop 70 and increasing. _

_The numb swallows my legs. My arms are next to go._

_We're losing it! Sir, we're losing it! Inject Mako! More Mako shots, stat!_

_Pricks. Calamity in cold. Chaos in unfeeling._

_STOP! Leave it. Throw her out. Silence follows. And close her file indefinitely._

* * *

Red. The color of his hair, tint of his cheeks and nose as he comes in from the biting cold. The shade of his wine that he can't live a day without. And the color I _feel_ when I jumped to the front lines of battle.

As soon as I see the doorknob begin to twist, I am ready. Blanket in both hands, standing on my toes on the coffee table by the door—I am ready. The door opens and Reno stumbles in, looking—at first glance—distraught. Like I care.

I pounce.

The blanket hits its target: right onto his red hair, and I pull his lanky body down.

He screams _the_ girliest scream I have ever heard—something like "EEEEEEEEAA!!"

We're wrestling now on the carpet. He can't see, but he flails his long arms in all directions, some hits landing, others not. I've got him pinned down on his stomach, his waist between my knees.

"WHERE'S THE FOOD, RENO!" I pull the blanket off his eyes. He struggles under me. I forget that I'm lighter than him and he tosses me off and to the ground. He wrestles my arms under his and pins me against the wall between his legs. The back of my head hits the wall and I flinch for just a second.

Red in his cheeks, under the dim lighting looks even redder—and he hasn't even had any wine yet!

"Who the hell you think you're dealing with?" Reno snarls.

"Some idiot from the street structure development department who contain his small horny self!" I feel his grasp hesitate. Hit him where it hurts—his rank, and his mini-me. I push my weight against him and wrestle him back to the ground. It's not long before I realize the reason for the smirk on his lips—I'm straddling him and he's fucking _enjoying_ it. "You're sick."

"And I didn't even have to do anything to get here."

"Can't you think of anything else besides sex, you freak?"

"Hey, _you_ put _me_ in between your legs yourself." He's right, that was a stupid move. I'm only wearing one of his larger dress shirts that lingers down to my thighs and underwear. Wasn't really expecting anything big to come out of this.

"Just tell me where the food is." He still smirks.

"Will ya get off of me?"

"Yes."

"Then no."

"RENO!" I reach my hands to his throat and feel his pulse throbbing under my thumb. I press. "I haven't eaten all day!! I'm hungry!!"

"Fine," he chokes.

"Just tell m—wait, really?"

"Yes. I'm not in the mood, Jalen Zhu." I get up and he brushes himself off. He picks up his briefcase that tumbled at the door when I jumped on him and takes it into his room. I stand in the hallway, looking a little confused—he must be in a foul mood. I notice the curls of carpet creeping into my heels as he comes back out a minute later with a box of Chinese takeout—my favorite. He tosses it to me. But he won't look at me.

He promptly turns back around and goes into his room.

"_What's wrong with him?"_

"I don't know..." I say. "But somehow I'm not that hungry anymore."

"_You feel bad for him...because you like him."_

"Shut up." I go to the kitchen, pull out a clean wine glass and fill it halfway with what's left in his favorite bottle.

I slide down the hall and knock on his door.

"What the hell do you want now?" I open the door a tiny bit and slip myself in. He's got on black slacks that hang loosely around his slender hips and a white dress shirt, three buttons undone, dangling out of his slacks. His tie's already off as are the jacket and goggles, little red marks on his forehead for where they had been. Belt on its way off too. He's standing as he always does, with his hips forward and his chin up, swagger in his face. I feel something inside me jump, looking at him under the dim lighting, but I try to ignore it.

I hand him the glass. He doesn't look at me. Just takes it in his hand and takes it all down his throat. He hands the glass back to me without a pause and goes back to focusing on removing his belt. I set the glass down and stare at him.

"What's wrong with you today?" I ask. He sighs.

"None of your goddamn business. That's what," but he still won't look at me. I reposition myself so that I'm standing directly in front of him, but he stares down at his belt as he fiddles with it.

"Does it have to do with work?" I ask. He pushes me aside roughly and sighs, exasperated, as he heads towards the closet.

"You know, _normal_ girls would just drop it and shut up." I see his red hair hand into the closet.

"I'm not a _normal_ girl." I am mostly joking when I say it, but I hear Reno snort and mutter something under his breath. It affects me; my mood suddenly dampens—why does he seem to have some kind of effect on me? "What did you say, Redhead?" He comes out of the closet and stares at me straight on. His piercing gaze intimidates me—as if he knows something I don't—and I feel that something boiling uneasily inside of me.

"Do you talk to yourself?" He asks. This question kind of confuses me. The tone of his voice doesn't imply he's mocking me, but why would he ask if he already knows?

"Are we _still_ talking about this, Reno?"

"Yes, we are. DO you talk to yourself, Jay?" I don't respond. He takes a step towards me, fire brewing in his eyes, dangerous and red. "I _hear_ you at night, sitting there, fuckin' chit-chatting to yourself like your best friend forever's sitting right goddamn next to you." His words come out fast, sharp. I feel those years of persecution, back at home, the laughter, jeers, mockery, pounding fast through my memory, and the tears come on. _No, I don't hear voices! I just...stop laughing at me! Stop it!_

"I don't _talk_ to myself, Reno." I find myself standing, leaned forward, yelling. "What's your fucking problem anyway, picking on me? What the _fuck_ have I ever done to you!?"

"THEN WHO DO YOU TALK TO?" The red is in his cheeks now.

I sit down at the edge of his bed. The sheets are silky soft under my palms and on my legs. He begins to approach and I can already smell the scent of spice in the air, feel the red pressing against my face.

"I just..." hear voices, just say it. It's done with anyway. "There are...people who...speak to me... and I hear them. So I respond." He still stares at me, but I can't read the look in his eyes; it's no longer angry, but seems to hint... what... desperation? Sadness? I don't understand. "Why the hell do you care so much, anyway?"

"I don't," he spits gingerly. Then turns away, but I don't want him to turn away. I feel like I want him to turn back around, and look at me!

"Then why the hell are you being such a fucking drama queen about it?"

"You were right. Hard day at work." I shrug, but he's never been this submissive, and it scares me.

I notice his briefcase sitting next to my leg, propped against the bed. I don't usually care about it—I mean... what could be so interesting about road construction and street development?—but today I notice: papers roughly stuffed into its opening, and a little tip of a sheet poking out with thick capital letters "ZHU" across the top. That's...odd. I pull the paper out and set it on my lap. What the fuck?

Jalen Zhu  
Category: Cetra Candidate (Descendant)

Birthdate: June 11

Blood type: O, recessive for Rh+ trait

Height: 5'8"

Hair: Black

Eye: Brown

Cetra...I feel as if I've heard that word before...

"_Cetra. The Ancients...who hear voices of the Planet and communicate with those who walked the Planet long ago."_

"I don't get why that's important..." I say very quietly so that Reno, whose still fiddling around in the closet, cannot hear me.

"_There's only two of us left. And you're only half."_

"So... why does Reno have these papers...?" I sit in this silence for a minute, looking in bland confusion at the sheet of paper and blinking several times. It doesn't make sense that Reno would have access to files like these... unless... the answer comes creeping up on me. I feel it wander like a spider along my spine and all around me, its pinpoint legs sending chills up my spine.

OH GOD. OH FUCK. Reno comes out of the closet, sees his briefcase in disarray, and then turns his eyes towards my face. The realization must be written all over it because his eyes suddenly reflect a similar realization. His eyes widen and he lunges towards me.

FUCK. The heart beats in my chest. I dodge him, feel his fingers miss me by a hair. The terror's shaking through my fingers now and the adrenaline is bleeding through to my legs. RUN, they scream, RUN. I Run through the door and hear him following me. I hear myself sobbing, screaming, but I can't even control it.

"JALEN!" He calls after me. He wants me. He'll turn me in. Maybe there's a reward for my body, dead or alive. FIGHT, my brain screams. The kitchen, I think. I pull out a knife. I'm struggling for my LIFE now. The red is in my eyes. Alarm. Fear. Danger. Erupting in every fiber of my being. _Nibelhiem. Don't let him see that you're scared._

Can I fight?

He comes at me with his Electro-Mag _Quick like needle through thread, pulling back and forth, embroidering his mark in red--through human flesh._ _Stupidgirl._ Red. _FIRE. Whodidthis? Flames soaring, growing, enveloping the sky._

"JALEN! DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID" He hits the knife out of my hand. _Our bodies collide and he staggers. I can't go to the medic._

GODDAMN. These _memories_! Pounding through my flesh like blood, feeding the adrenaline, the actions, like a snake's venom, ready to kill_kill_.

_I LOOKED UP TO YOU! I ADMIRED YOU!_

I jump towards the door. OUT. Freedom. ANYWHERE, OUT! _God, let me die. If you exist, if you are merciful, you'll let the next one steal my life. Another prod-- And eyes, bleak, black, crazy. Through a pair of oval-shaped spectacles. Throw her out._

Almost there!

He grabs me. Swings me roughly against the wall. I struggle with everything in me, thrashing, biting, scratching. He holds me down.

"Jalen! Calm the fuck down!" I kick and bite and scratch. His hands are around my wrist now, the red sinking into my skin. The red goes through me and I burst.

"YOU THINK THIS IS SOME KIND OF JOKE, DON'T YOU! AM I JUST AN EXPERIMENT TO YOU?"

"Jay—just liste—"

"DON'T TOUCH ME! _DON'T TOUCH ME_!" I feel the tears. "IS THIS ALL I AM TO YOU? SEND ME BACK? LET THEM CUT ME OPEN. FILL ME WITH MAKO."

But the words aren't hitting the spot. _I LOOKED UP TO YOU! I ADMIRED YOU!_

"I TRUSTED YOU, RENO. I FUCKING TRUSTED YOU." I thought I knew him. I really thought I knew him. "Who the FUCK are you!? _WHO THE FUCK_ ARE YOU?" tears, crying, sobbing.

I struggle against him, still. Then he does something I don't expect.

Reno pushes his entire weight against me, holding down my legs and arms—and kisses me.

His lips press against my mouth and I feel his jaw twist deeper into me. I try to fight it. He pulls back. I'm speechless, but not enough to stop me from glaring, from feeling the red. He doesn't say anything. Just stares back at me again through a pair of lazy blue eyes, admiring, enjoying. Then kisses me again.

The fight leaves my limbs and he feels my rage subsiding.

His hand leaves my wrists and travel along my back and behind my neck. He presses his way between my legs--the pressure from his hips increases and I can feel his power building against me. He pulls a hand slowly and gently up my spine, tracing the contour of my curves with his fingertips. My breaths grow shallow and a soft moan escapes me. This time, it isn't fake.

A different red has engulfed me.

It emboldens me to slide my fingers up his forearms and across his chest. I kiss the skin right under his jaw and feel him shudder beneath me. It drives him crazy. He trembles and responds with another thrust of his hip. I can't control my senses; they're calling out in alarm, screaming and tingling, shakes and shivers. I'm melting in red as the trembles crawl up my spine.

He kisses me again, rough with his lips, and hangs onto it with his teeth.

I'm melting.

In his room, I drop his slacks and pull his undershirt off of him. His body looks pale with the lights off, but the moonlight outlines his thin muscular body. He unbuttons my shirt and in a deft movement swings me onto the bed.

Under the sheets, his skin, and the smell of spice, enrapturing my senses, I feel like a cloth soaked in his scent. He kisses me still, then looks at me, tracing his fingers along my curves. My back arches towards him; and I ache all over.

The red's left his eyes and in its place and tender, but hungry blue watches me and bites my upper lip. Then he draws closer to me and thrusts. I feel the red shoot up, racing through my heart, his fingertips grasping my thighs. The sting, like electricity--but the pleasure, the hidden delight like a seeping wave. I moan.

And before he continues, he looks at me and says, "I'm a Turk, Jalen. _That's_ who I am."

I look to him.

"Fuck you, Reno."

And we melt, into each other, into the red of the night.


	8. The Dreadful Realization

Sorry this took so long for me to update. In reality, I had this written like three weeks ago, but I just kept reading it again and again, and I _really hate_ this chapter. It's just kind of boring and tell-much-telling all the way through. I fixed it up the best I could, but I'm warning you, it's a little lackluster.

It's one of those filler chapters again. The plot begins to completely SNOWBALL in the next chapter, and should be loads more interesting. There's no real goal in this chapter, just to tell the story.

BUT, another reason why I took so long with this chapter is because I'm ALSO working on a new story, and I kind of wanted both this chapter and the first prologue/chapter of the new story to be released at the same time--to make up for my absence! So, go check it out if you have time. It's Final Fantasy VIII. I'm very fond of the storyline in that one, and it would really mean a lot if you just went, looked at it, and left an encouraging comment or something. The style of writing is _completely_ different from this one. More fun experimentation. ANYWAY...

RemnantofVII - were you right about what happened next? :)

NovaGloriosa17 - thank you so much!

saigonogensou713 - hehe thank you, glad that you enjoyed the ending.

**THANK YOU to everyone** sooo much for the support in writing this story!

* * *

**8.  
The Dreadful Realization**

Damn. What a wild night. I breathe in the brisk morning air and shuffle my legs under the sheets, taking in every little ruffle under covers. Her scent fills my nostrils; it's sweet, but subtle like summer afternoons—and I can't seem to put a specific name to it. I run a finger along her back; she stirs. Her skin is firm and smooth, huddled up warm against my frame. My fingers run along her thigh. This isn't like usual 'morning-afters.' Normally, I'm restless, looking for some excuse to get out of bed. Somehow, I feel calmer than usual, just enjoying the sunshine seeping through the blinds onto our bodies and memorizing the vivid highlights of this morning's wake.

Jalen turns to face me. I smile as I feel her fingers sweep along my chest. She plants a long tender kiss on my lips. Now, this is what I live for. The girl, obviously wanting more the morning after. She can't get enough of me. She would do anything for that one more go. Which gives me the upper hand.

But Jalen then surprises me again. She thrusts right back around and roughly shuffles out of bed, a bed sheet curled up around her chest even though there's no point to it; I've already examined every little bit of her. She doesn't look at me, just jumps out of bed and into the bathroom. She shuts the door. I hear it lock, the shower run.

What the _hell_?

Suddenly the bed is a full body colder and I'm alone. This is _not_ okay. This has _never_ happened before. I feel myself get antsy. It drives me insane that she doesn't want me! What kind of girl has a wild time with _me_ the night before, then just wakes up leaves? It's impossible!

Jalen is a fighter. In bed, she constantly struggled against my body, then she struggled consistent_ with_ my flow—those were the moments I couldn't get out of my mind, just our bodies moving in synch, and with such vigor—she's always fighting for something.

The way she clutched my shoulders with her fingers, and breathed her sighs of pleasure into my ear. Then how she'd push me away from her—I'd just want more. I'd grab her and bring her back to me for another struggle. The night was full of tug and push and wrestling about the room. I'll spare you the intimate details.

Back to this moment. I was going insane.

The shower stops. She walks out, a towel around her chest. "Jalen, come here." I call—and I _hate _it—that I even _have to_. Then she _ignores_ me! She rummages through my drawers then leaves for the living room.

I groan, completely disgruntled, disgusted with the situation. This can't be happening—not to _me_. _Why_?

Reluctantly, I manage to pull myself out of bed and wander down the hall in just my boxers. The cold carpet stings at my feet. I see her sitting in her little corner on the couch, holding that sheet of paper I'd printed off the day before in her hand. I take the other edge, leaning in and touching her bare thigh. The skin, smooth and soft like silk brings me back to last night, to what this morning should've been.

"Good morning, sexy."

"Don't touch me, Turk." Hostility flashes cold and hard against her eyes. All the more inviting. I smirk and lean in.

"That's not how you felt last night."

"Moment of weakness. It won't happen again." She doesn't look bothered at all, just turns her head away quick and continues glancing around at the sheet of paper, reading over the statistics.

"Moments of weakness don't do well in battle." She glares up at me. I attacked that subconscious fighter she's got in her and she just won't take it.

"Shut up, scum," she mutters, then quickly looks away. I sigh. I didn't think this would be such a big problem considering the intimate attitude she held towards me last night. But, it seems she won't let me in again until we get this solved.

"You're a SOLDIER, Jalen. We're both from the government, we both work for the government. I just get a higher pay--shouldn't we be on the same side here?" She looks up at me, stunned at what I've just said. "What, Jay? We're _on the same side_."

"How dare you! Look at they did to me, Reno!" I look into her ghostly blue eyes and catch a glimpse of melancholy in her tender gaze. It strikes me like a dart into my gut. "What _you_ people did to me." I don't crack. I don't let her words affect me. She can't touch me--I'm a Turk. She holds up the sheet of paper in her hand to show me. I see her old warm brown eyes, her tomboy-ish smirk. Then, I look back at her cold blue eyes, a mark of everything she lost to SOLDIER. "Do you see what I _used_ to be? I fought for a _cause_, Reno. You just do dirty work. And that's what separates us."

"Really now? Was your cause Martin? Cause I'm pretty sure you lost that cause last night." I smirk, but she's not smiling, just glaring right at me with those eyes. The sunlight creeps onto her skin in the silence. I remember the feel of her skin, the way my fingers, rough as they are, slid gently across her back all through the night, and how I'd do anything just to feel it right now, right here on this couch.

"I _love_ Martin," she says. "_You_ were just a lapse in judgment." Her comment makes me think it'll be harder for me to get to that skin again. But I like the challenge.

"Say what you want, babe, you know you enjoyed it." I lean forward and press my hand against her inner thigh. She hesitates in her response for a second, then shoves me right off. The more she pushes me away, the more I want it. Just to win. I _think_. Just to win. She glares at me.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"Mm...not possible," I mutter and jump on top of her. She struggles against my weight—fighting _again_—I laugh, it tickles. I'm feeling playful, suddenly, and I nibble on her ear, ignoring her cries for me to 'get-the-fuck-OFF-Reno!' I run my fingers along her side and am about to slip under her shirt when she finally succeeds in shoving me off.

I fall onto the other side of the couch. She straightens her shirt, flustered, her cheeks red. It's cute, and I smile at it. I watch her get herself straightened out; then she turns to me, a glimmer in her eye.

"If you want my affection, it comes with a price." She suddenly looks playful too now. I'm liking it.

"Ooh. That's sexy. What do you want?"

"Tell me everything the government has on me." And as suddenly as it came, her little smile fades. She looks serious, and mean. Goddamn tease. I thought I was in.

"Wha? It's my day off. No way I'm going to the office."

"Your loss, Red." She starts to turn away from me.

"I'm NOT desperate." I smirk. "You'll give in."

"No I wont!" she retorts.

"Just give it time, baby. My devilishly good looks will have you begging me for more."

"I'm leaving," she says quickly, and looks at me hard. It takes me a second to realize that she means it--that she'll soon be walking out the front door and away from my apartment, my bed, and me. She wants me to take her seriously. She wants it to affect me. I can see it in the pull of her eyes.

"I wouldn't if I were you," and I'm being totally serious. "Conditions that came with those eyes include sensitivity to cold. You'd die if you left now. It's January. And it's snowing outside." She frowns, and her eyes even look at a little sad.

"Fuck you," she mutters, defeated, and turns away from me with her arms crossed. I shrug and stretch out my body against the back of the couch. This reminds me of what to do for my next play.

"Well, baby," I say, standing up and heading over for the heater controls. I switch off the heat and head down the hallway. "You know where I'll be." As I leave, she looks horrified. The heat controls have my password on it. All I have to do now...is wait. It's a game, and today, she'll lose.

The day passes wearily. I turned the heat off in her area of the house, but my room is nice and toasty. I pass the time, read the news about what was discovered in Nibelhiem, and sort things out in my room. There's no noise from where she is. Jalen's a fighter alright, but she's not stupid. She knows how to survive. It's just a matter of time. As expected, later that night, she finally gives in. She comes in, crawling under the covers next to me, shivering like a leaf in a storm. It's dark so she can't see me smirk, but I am: I won. She curls up against me. I feel her skin crawl up against mine. My fingers automatically sweep up along her thigh--if I could only get her started, but she shakes me off.

"Well, looky who we have here!" I whisper in ear as she presses her body against me.

"Shut up," she mutters. I kiss her neck gently, curling my arms around her back, but she shakes me off with a series of wiggles. Jalen makes it clear that she's in no condition to go tonight. "Just let me rest." Her voice sounds weary. She struggles a little bit against my grasp until I loosen my hold, then falls asleep clinging onto my shoulders with her slender little fingers.

And there, in the middle of the night, I feel it creeping onto my skin--subtle and sly like a cat stalking its prey: the dreadful realization. I touch my hands against her back and she shivers in her sleep, huddling closer to my body. She fights me, over and over again, this girl, but something about her makes me smile. And I realize, I hate the way she pushes me away, the way she has me doing things I never thought I would, the way she struggles against me in everything--but I wouldn't want it any other way. And mostly, I hate that I can tell myself I hate these things about her all the time, when I know, in reality, it's what I like the most.

I take in her scent and pull her close.


	9. In God's Hands

Aaah! Sorry about the delay! Finals week, everything is hectic--I can't believe how quickly things are moving! Graduation, college, future, here I come!

Thanks again for all the support, everyone. I hope you enjoyed the filler chapter even though it was filler. I tried to make it interesting. As you can see, things after this should be pretty interesting ;). Buahaha. I love writing for drama/suspense.

RemnantofVII - How did it turn out for your predictions? I'm really curious!! :D

TheGreatMillz33 - hehe, thank you, I did try!

Oh, and I wanted to share with you guys, because I feel like I'm a little late jumping onto the bandwagon here. Has anyone read the _Twilight_ series? I just finished the three books--all three of them literally in the last week. I LOVE IT! Let me know!

-loverly zee

NOW ON WITH IT!

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**9.  
In God's Hands**

The sunlight creeps on tippy-toes across his pale bare skin. This is the second morning waking up in Reno's arms, and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I haven't the energy to evaluate it right now. I shuffle my arms a little from under his warm hold. The sheets feel soft as each stitch finds its away against my skin. I'd dreamt a nightmare—a horrifying nightmare—and the scariest part about it was that it wasn't just a dream; the night may have been cold, but the nightmare was full of fire, and pain.

Reno stirs against me; I feel his warm finger caressing the skin along my back underneath my shirt. He'd been touching me all night—not in any obscene way, mind you—but along my arms, my back, my leg—his fingers had just been rolling warmly along my skin all through the night. I don't know what his problem is or what his motives are, but he just wouldn't stop every time I shook him off.

"Reno," I mutter.

"Yea Jay?" his voice is lazy and warm. _Warm_, which frightens me a little bit. I've never heard him so docile before.

"What the hell are you doing?" but his fingers don't stop.

"I don't know..." he mumbles. Before I admit to myself it actually feels nice and calming, I twist under the sheets, away from him. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me back. "Where you think you're running off to, babe?"

"Don't call me that." He doesn't respond, just draws me against his chest and keeps sweeping his fingers against my skin, sending shivers up my spine. I look at him. His eyes are closed and he's sporting a goofy little smirk on his thin lips. Under the sunlight, I can see his sharp bone structure clearly, carved but handsome, the light dancing along his pale cheek.

"Reno," I mutter again.

"What, Jay?" he opens his eyes a tiny bit, annoyed. Their crystal blue flashes sharply against his red hair even more so in the morning light. He closes them again. "I'm listening."

"I dreamt of Nibelhiem." He see his jaw clench, but he doesn't respond. "He... he went crazy. He locked himself in the basement of the Shinra Manor for a week and spoke to no one. Not even Zack." Reno's fingers stopped. He seemed suddenly interested.

"What happened then?" he asked, his voice less lazy, more forceful. I realized that Shinra might not actually know what happened, but just had to cover up after the mess.

"We woke up and there were flames, fire burning everywhere," I said, and the visions of the nightmare began to fly back in my eyes. _Flames soaring, growing, enveloping the sky. Whereishe!? Zack,wheredidyougo!?_ "Everywhere.."

_Zack, his slicked spiky hair racing against the smoke. Screams, the villagers cry. Smog muffling cries, shrieking, trapped under burning blocks. Flesh melting into a soggy stench. Cries, whimpering, slowly dying. Zack! Tifawentafterhim! Where? Youhavetogotoher! _

_The blunt of his blade, the back of my head, and then the ground, the gravel under my fingers. _

"Jalen! Sh...sh..." I feel Reno's fingers around my skin again. I begin to realize that my fingers are cold and that I was shaking, absorbed in the memory.

"And in the reactor..." _I ADMIRED YOU! I LOOKED UP TO YOU!_ "he threw us round like rag dolls."

_Blood everywhere, my life spilling before me in crimson red. I fly into the air, a million daggers in my chest, caught between my ribs. Noise, bursts of cacophony strangling and suffocating--in my mind._

"He...he saw right through me with those cold, crazy eyes. He called us traitors, and screamed at us. We didn't understand. We didn't _understand_! Traitors of what? We were on his side! I thought we were on his side.." _Thin cold lips. Stupid girl_.

_His sword out, pointed. Wear,tear,rust. Thiswasalittlemoreimportant. Stoprightthere, Sephiroth._

_Traitor. Crazy, blue eyes. Crazy. You'llneverunderstand. The chosen one, something in his eyes, a solemn understanding, A solemn insanity twirling in violent spirals in those mako blue eyes. Of understanding._

_Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, Zack slides down the metal steps. Sephiroth ignores and returns through the door._

"All we had was each other."

Reno seems like he doesn't know what to do—so he does what a horny-redhead Turk does best. He gently tilts my head back and kisses my lips softly, running his fingertips again along my bare back and pressing his lips deeply into mine. I push him off.

"I don't want your sympathy, Turk."

He sighs. "Jalen. What do I have to do to show you that I am genuinely sad for what happened to your pretty little frame?"

"Nothing, ever. You're on the wrong side, Reno."

"Well too bad, this is my _job_," he says, sighs, then struggles to sit up, "speaking of which, I'm going to be late for if I don't get up." He shuffles up into a sitting position, then looks at me with lazy eyes.

"What you looking at, Shinra-scum?"

"_You_, doll."

"Well... keep looking," I push away from him. "Doesn't mean you're gonna get anything." I'm irritated. I tried to open up, he shut me away and now he's going to work. He's going to the exact place that started it all, let Nibelhiem happen. Reno collapses on top of me.

"Aren't you going to give me a goodbye kiss, babe?" I feel his fingers working again, at my thighs around my waist, tickling me. I laugh and struggle and in the process catch a glimpse of his actual smile—something different about it: it isn't a smirk. Is... is he genuinely happy to see me laugh?

"Get off, Reno!" I push him off before my thoughts run wild.

"Fine, but you owe me, SOLDIER." He stands up, dresses and walks out the door. I hear him punch in the code for the heater, then the front door open and close. I sit, very still in the wake of his departure, wondering about that smile I'd seen on his face only moments before. His lips not curled into that crooked smile, but _pulled_ all the way back against his jaw—like he was happy. Like we were both happy. Together.

Ludicrous! Absolutely ridiculous. This is Reno, the Turk. I was just government property to him. It didn't mean anything for him to see me smile—or vice versa. Turks. He was my _enemy_ now. We stood on opposite sides of honor, and that meant we'd never get along...right?

But still, I'd grown accustomed to his smile, his attitude, and that flaming red hair. His sharp features, which I'd first found outlandish seemed home to me now, and those lips which only looked thin were in fact the best pair of lips I'd ever kissed—well, second best. To my Martin. _Martin_...

The actual realization hit me just before he came back, throttled me from these strange thoughts. I sit at the edge of my couch, huddled up in a blanket in the cold, just passing the time by remembering things until the voice interrupted my train of thought.

In little sobs, I hear her.

"Aerith, is that you?" I hear a muffled reply. "Aerith, what's wrong?"

_"It's raining."_ I hear after a pause. I look out the window; sure enough, there are a few drops falling here and there, against the window.

"It's just a little water, won't they be good for your flowers?"

_"My cart's broken."_ Her voice sounds so...desperate, sad over a broken cart. _"The wheel fell off."_

"Zack said he'd fix it didn't he? He's always talking about how he's going back to Midgar to see you." I don't understand the connection between the rain and the crying. What's really going on?

_"He won't be back."_ I hear muffled sobs again.

"What do you mean? He's on his way." I say. I hear the lock click, the door open. Reno steps in.

_"He __won't be back."_

Then I understand. The drops slide off the gutter and begin to crash down outside the window. Zack. My captain. SOLDIER...Dreams and honor with that sword he barely used—and his full-toothed smile. It's raining.

Zack Fair is dead.

And the man responsible is standing right before me.

"What's up, doll?" Reno asks as he comes in. I look at him. He looks satisfied and triumphant about his day.

"You...killed him didn't you?" He looks hard at me, in my eyes, but I glare just as hard back.

"I did not," he says slowly. "I only ordered the attack."

"ONLY? You KILLED HIM."

"He was an escaped experiment and he wouldn't comply. In Turk code, baby—that means the axe."

_Murderer_. I'm living with a murderer. "ZACK WAS A HERO. YOU DIRTY GOVERNMENT SCUM! YOU KILLED HIM BECAUSE—THE BIG MAN TOLD YOU TO!?"

"DON'T YELL AT ME!" He retorts and looks away, unable to make eye contact. "It's my _job_, Jalen. I'm a goddamn Turk."

"KILL ME TOO THEN! _KILL ME, RENO_! I'M _JUST_ LIKE THEM!"

The blood is rushing through my body, and I can feel it rise. I can't control it; the red is all over my face, in my eyes and I feel it blaring into my system. I can't be here anymore. _Murderer._

Inside, I'm screaming, writhing, burning, the fury shattering those delicate glass walls I'd carefully placed; Nibelhiem comes swooping into my system. _Flames soaring, growing, enveloping the sky. _ My_ world_. Zack was _all_ that mattered to me when things got bad. _The blunt of his blade, the back of my head, and then the ground, the gravel under my fingers._I can't _be_ here anymore! _Noise, bursts of cacophony strangling and suffocating._ Murderer! _MURDERER!_

I make eye contact with him for just a minute and the hot tears stream down my cheeks, red with anger.

"Goodbye, Reno."

I run.

"You'll die out there!" I hear, but he can't stop me.

Through the door, the winter breeze blasts me across the face; the rain splatters on my arms and legs and I shiver.

I run.

My body is shaking, but I keep moving. Street signs, roads, house lights blur all around me. I push through the throng of people. Nothing matters as long as I feel the ground thudding against my heels.

I run.

I have no idea where I am, or where I'm going. All I know is that Reno is a murderer. A dirty dog of the government and the rain can fall and I will shiver, but it won't change anything. I don't care where I go, all I know is to run. It's in God's hands now.

If there is a God.


	10. Am I Dead Yet?

Hi all, hopefully, it hasn't been _too_ long since the last update! The last one was supposed to be a bit of a thriller, discovering the truth and following the Final Fantasy VII plotline a bit. Now, I'm trying to expand Jalen's world just a little bit. Soon, you'll be able to see into her life at home, and how it used to be, and how it might possibly lead to her back into the hands of our favorite Turk ;).

Technically, this was a filler chapter for more action, but I thought it was kind of a nice transition. Anyways, enjoy the temporarily laid back style of writing because from here on out I'm going to experiment in making the story more intense than it already is!!

pink-revolt - thank you so much!! I like your favorite's list! haha

RemnantofVII - haha sorry, but surprises are good? maybe i'll come back to what you're expecting later :

Memmi - okayokayokayokay! here! enjoy!

Enjoy! Leave a **review**, please. Let me know if you hate it, like it, love it!

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**10.  
Am I Dead Yet?**

It bites at me. With little sharp fangs, it bites at me—the rain, the wind, the hail—and each step is a struggle to live through the next one. The adrenaline pumps through my system. It's the only indication that I'm still alive. I don't know where I am and all I can think about is the warmth I woke up to this morning, the gentle crawling motion Reno's arm made across my back, and his clear blue eyes waned in _cheerful_ half-moons as he flashed me that unguarded smile. And how I long just to be with hi...

No!

Run. I've got to _run_. From these thoughts, leaving little shreds of them behind in my footsteps, with each clap my feet make against the ground. The rain, this numbing cold, pitter-pattering against my trembling skin means _nothing_.

My vision is blurred, gray streets and colored signs, green stoplights and yellow buses, everything mixing in a swirled blur like someone took a stick and stirred everything into a melting pot of color. And then, as suddenly as it all started, everything straightens. A small wooden door stands in my path. I pull on the handle and a gust of warm air engulf my face. Voices sound all around me, laughing, sobbing, bubbly and slurred. I stumble in through the crowded tables and find myself sitting in a seat at the bar, almost blinded by the sticky warmth around me. My face falls flat against the table—it's now that the cold catches up with me and my breathing becomes little shallow gasps in my chest.

"What can I get you, Miss?" the bartender asks me. I can't see her face, my eyes stunned by the cold, still. "Are... are you alright, Miss?" Her voice is sweet and caring.

"Where am I?" I stutter between heavy breaths.

"Seventh Heaven, best pub in the sector!" her voice is cheerful. I tilt my chin up just a little bit just to get a glimpse of her face. I see her bright beautiful brown eyes, which seem to widen a bit as she sees mine.

"Am I dead yet?" I ask. The bartender quickly leaves my shallow field of vision and comes back again with a mug. I left my eyes and see its filled with a deep yellowish liquid, foaming over the rim of its container. She pushes it into my cold hands which I just realize are on the bar.

"Drink it," she orders. "It doesn't taste good, but it'll warm you up."

"So...I'm not dead," I mutter—she must think I'm delusional—which I _think_ I _am_. I don't take a sip just yet, but my hands shake. My mind swims in the wake of the suddenly realized option of crawling right back out into the rain and letting the cold take me. My number was up long ago, why am I pushing it?

"Please drink it," I hear—she sounds like she's pleading. I take a swig. Immediately, the heat burns down my nostrils and throat and spreads through to my fingertips. "Where are you from?"

"I...No...It doesn't matter, I don't know...I don't know where I'm going," I mumble, concentrating on the warmth that slowly spreads down my chest. My body has made the decision for me to live, but my mind is still protesting. Automatically, my hands bring the mug to my lips and I drink again. The liquid burns down my throat. "I'm running." It was the plainest thing I could think to say without being untruthful. I feel it swelling against my chest, the pain welled up from everything, Nibelheim, Zack, Reno..._Zack_... "From something inevitable." The tears suddenly start to roll. I must be a mess. "And I don't know where to stay... I've got no money. I...I just..._ran_." I'm an idiot; I should've stolen some gil from that goddamn, stupid, beautiful Turk.

"You can stay with me, I'm headed to Kalm, if that's alright with you!" she offered cheerfully. I lifted my head to look at her. Her deep brown hair fell in a low ponytail over her broad shoulder and rested gently against her chest. Her face was angelic, almost child-like, exuding innocence and _love_...and pain.

"Kalm..." I mutter to myself, lost in the thought. "Yes! I... I'm from Kalm!" I had a life there once. That was it! My next step was to find that life again. To find Martin again. He'd be proud of me... wouldn't he? Of course. My Martin. He'd take me in his arms and stroke his fingers through my hair and I would breathe in his sweet scent and finally feel secure. And he'd look into my eyes and joke about how they're now as blue as the skies are in Kalm. He'd laugh, and I'd watch in secret pleasure at the wane of his eyes, the curve of joy in his lips.

"Great! Well let me close up," she walks away and I suddenly realize that the pub is now empty. I stand to my feet, feeling wobbly, but not the same as before, a loose kind of comfortable wobbly.

"No, I-I hate to be a burden. I'll just go to the inn," I try to reason with her, taking a few steps forward, but the soles of my feet send a spiking ache through my calves, and suddenly I'm hanging onto the bar chairs for dear life.

"Nonsense, you can barely walk and plus, they charge way too much for just one night at the inn."

"But," I stutter. "I'm a complete stranger! How... can you trust me? You don't even know my name."

She stops stacking chair for just a second and looks at me, "What's your name?"

"Jalen," I say.

"Jalen, I'm Tifa," she says curtly, then continues before I can respond. "Listen, there are two types of runner in this world: the runner that runs for the hell of it, and the runner who's running from _something_. No offense, but you don't look like you're having fun. And these days, the only thing to run from is the government. And if that's the case, you are always welcome at Seventh Heaven. Come here, let me show you your room." She sounds eager as she leads me slowly to the side of the bar—to some kind of little machine ticking. She directs me to stand next to it and suddenly, the ground shifts under me.

I scream and Tifa giggles. It's a trapdoor and there's a room underneath. It's a small room, the yellow walls lined with cheap picture frames and a table in the center of the room. In front of that, sits a long leathery couch, and in the very corner a bed with an unmoving body, but all I can see—or wish to see, really—is its feet kicked up off the edge. I eye it, but Tifa directs me to the center of the room.

"The others will be back soon!" Tifa is mostly talking to herself this point, scrambling around the room excitedly, and setting things up. "They'll be excited that you've come here! You might even like it with us that you'll want to stay." The couch looks so inviting that I can only hear it's call. I stumble over slowly and drop myself onto its soft embrace. I curl up on one of its arms and suddenly Tifa's chatter becomes a lullaby. The world of sleep cradles me in its arms and I begin to drift away from reality.

The next time I open my eyes it's mid afternoon and I can't remember much the night before besides running, and Tifa, of course. There's a blanket tucked around me which I shrug off with my shoulders. I sit up and look around. The feet on the bed haven't moved an inch—I specifically remember _that_.

There was a new face in the room now: a burly looking man with dark skin and a mechanical arm. He turns to me and I suddenly shrink away. The...machine arm frightens me. _Throttling pain sears through my sides, races to my chest. My mouth doesn't open, but I'm screaming, shaking. Screeches noises, and black, dry nothing. My eyes see in that split second--Needles and machinery._

He sits across the table from Tifa. She smiles as soon as she sees me, those angelic eyes waning cheerfully.

"Good morning, sleepy-head," she greets.

"I...I'm really not dead?" I ask.

"No! Stop saying that. Now, would you like breakfast?"

"No...I'll pass, thanks." I swing my feet over the side of the couch and touch them lightly to the carpet. I look to the pair of feet on the bed again. "Is...that person..."

"No," Tifa smiles weakly. "He's just sleepier than you." Her smile looks disgruntled. "This is Barrett," she says suddenly. Barrett holds up his good, fleshy hand as a greeting.

"What are you here fo'? You a runner?" he asks me. I gaze at him, not quite sure what to say, then he turns and prods Tifa in the arm. I know he's trying to be secretive, but I hear him anyway muttering, "Tifa, look at her eyes."

Tifa looks up at me and freezes, her brown eyes no longer cheerful.

"Jalen...are your eyes...naturally that color?" I knew this was coming. Looking at her eyes and knowing that's how mine used to be, I knew she would question me about my newer scarier eyes. I knew it. But she seems to keep a locked understanding in her eyes. Either way, it's not a pleasant story; I take a deep breath.

"They told me I used to have deep brown eyes like yours, Tifa," I say quietly. "I'm running from _him_."

"Him?"

"Well, _them_. ShinRa."

"We all are here, Jalen," Tifa tries to smile encouragingly, but I still see the pain.

"They made me this way," I say in a low voice. The shudders run up my spine. "I was a first class SOLDIER. They built up my dreams. Made me believe I could do great things, then they tore everything away. I was left to die."

"The bastards!" Barrett yells suddenly and slams his hand against the table. Tifa puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"Why don't you come eat something, Jalen." I nod and lift my weight onto my feet slowly—these feet that have carried me through war and blood and _death_. Wearily, they lead me towards the table. I glance again at the set of feet laying on the edge of the bed in the corner of the room and shiver, but as I near the table, I can finally see what those feet are attached to: the long lanky arms, the chiseled face, that familiar spiky blonde hair, and those eyes, those unmistakable blue eyes staring blanking forward. My breath leaves me, my feet plastered in their place, shaking but so still.

_I push him inside a stall. Our bodies collide and he staggers. Cloud. Cloud! I can't go to the medic. Sirens, sporadic red flashes glazing across the metallic lining on the floor. _

_Cries, whimpering, slowly dying._

"Cloud?" It's a whisper at first, then screams. "Cloud!! CLOUD!!" I can't stop myself—my _kin_. His eyes are a dead blue, but swimming with life and understanding, staring at the ceiling but not seeing it at all. My Cloud... "They're after us, Cloud! Get up! We have to _run_!" The words come rushing out in desperate cries. "Cloud! They've killed him, Cloud! They've killed Zack!"

"Jalen!" her voice is crystal clear and snaps me out of my hysteria. "He's got Mako addiction, a severe case it seems. I...I'm afraid he can't hear you."

"Where did you find him!" I turn to them suddenly, and back away. The feeling in my heart has changed. Do I trust them now that I've found one of my own? I've got to protect Cloud. He's helpless as he is now! "Who are you people and what's happened to him!"

"Jalen!" I see the sincere twinkle in her eye. "I found him lying by the train tracks. He's my childhood friend—we grew up together in Nibelheim—so I took him in and I'm taking care of him." Tifa. The name finally sounds familiar. _Glowing brown eyes. I'mTifa. I'mthebestguidethereis._ I calm down and step away from Cloud's side, glancing at his cold strange eyes one more time. My Cloud. My brother...what's happened to us? I wish I had been so lucky to have been thrown out near where Martin could have taken me in.

_Martin_. Martin. I remember his loving glance, the tender sense of love and authority in his protective green eyes and his rough chocolate hair that rustled every time I pulled my finger through. _Kalm Town_. It must be time to go home to my love and finally see him. It must be time to face the past—the life I had before Nibelheim and SOLDIER—where I was the Daredevil, and didn't have to pretend to be anything else. But first...to explain myself to my saviors.

I walk over to Tifa's table and take a seat. Slowly, I begin to explain everything I know. The physical running is done. Now the memories are released from their long sleep, the past suddenly bounds before me like a wild but familiar road. A tangled daydream on which I had yet to tread.

Next stop, Kalm, Martin, home.


	11. White Flag

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any Final Fantasy VII characters. Square-Enix does. :( Sadly enough!!

**HI. **Sorry for the pause in updates! Life has been hectic, and I can't tell if anyone likes this story...?? R&R _please_.

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**11.  
White Flag**

_His fingertips wrapping around my arms, my hair. His sweet breath, cool against my neck, mesmerizing. Spinning. The world is spinning. Dizzy, drunk on his sweet fragrance. _

_Truth or dare? He asks, I grin._

_Dare._

_Kiss me. I press my lips against his and breathe his scent. The moist taste of his breath, his lips against my skin, my neck, my collarbone. Dizzy. The ground spins, quakes with fervor. His hair at my fingertips, rough and fine._

_Daredevil, he breathes. Follow me._

--

Kalm. Small town, small people, small dreams, and it looked like nothing has changed here. Except me.

I had been just a seed planted in Kalm's soft soil, but grew until the town couldn't hold me anymore. Now, looking back I see what it really is: not a hometown, but a memory. Of a different, simpler life. And I was just getting back to my roots. The rooftops are a pale blue that looked fresher when I was young. The sky is a light gray, the sun peeking through wisps of cloud every now and then as I remember it. And the people, once tall and proud seemed shrunken and without cause.

I part ways with Tifa at the town inn and tell her I will be back after I look around. She nods in my direction and runs off on her own.

First stop, home.

Or what used to be.

The last time I saw my mother, I stood in the doorway with a bag full of clothes, and told her I was leaving. Then I walked out the front door and never came back. She didn't even look at me; I remember the placid look on her face as I told her of my plans. She didn't care--if anything, she was relieved. Whenever she _did_ glance at me her gaze stung with hatred, reminding me I was a burden, unwanted. Now I finally understand why.

My father was an Ancient. And I was their mistake. It didn't matter to her whether I was breathing or not, my very presence was a reminder, a flashing sign that marked her faults. And here I am on my old doorstep. Wait...why was I here again? Oh, hell. I press the doorbell with little anticipation and wait for a reply.

It's not who I expect.

An old woman answers the door. She's covered in a shawl; she smiles at me with her eyes, amiable wrinkles creasing around her soft skin—remnants of the joy in her life, "And how many I help you, miss?"

"Well, uh...I was wondering...Do you know what happened to the woman who used to live here?"

"Oh, Ms. Zhu. She left long ago. At least four years ago. Quiet lady, said she wanted to leave as soon as she could," the old woman smiled. "I never understand why. It's a lovely town. And who might you be?"

"Oh...I'm...I'm just a visitor. Thank you," I smiled back at her and walked away. So, my mother left as soon as she could. As soon as she knew I was out of sight. To her, I was an obligation, an anchor, keeping her locked in the prison that was Kalm, where she never wanted to be. Forget it. It's not like I _loved_ my mother or anything.

I stare at the sky, at the sun directly above my head—it seems about noon. Where would I find Martin at this time? _Martin_...I walk back into the tiled plaza. A few minutes of just standing there, I hear his familiar laughter, the cheerful ring sounding just east of where I am. I feel my heart thud, stop dead in its tracks. I turn my head, and I see him.

Damn. He looks more handsome than I remember: tall, broad shoulders, creamy dark skin, and flashing green eyes to compliment his ruffled brown hair. I almost shy away at first. He's walking in my direction with two other girls, but I pay no attention to them. A knot begins to build in my throat, my fingers start to shake. Martin... As soon as he sees me...I know things will be right. They _have_ to be. I've been suffering for five long years for this moment. I step in front of him and gather my voice.

"Martin?" I ask. He looks stunned to see me, blinking to get a clear view.

"Well, hey there, honey. Would you like to join us for a drink?" he asks, and I feel myself shaking, staring desperately at him. No, no no. He _knows_ me. We _know_ each other.

"Martin, it's me, Jalen." His eyes widen and finally—that look! He gazes deeply into my eyes. Spinning. The world was spinning around us again. My knees shake, my breathing shallows. "You remember?" I whisper. He nods, his smile warm and his perfect lips stretching across his face in that beautiful toothy grin I remember. I feel my heart skip, throb in my chest, feel it fumble around and flip. Two pieces of one heart, finally reunited. I could _live_ again.

"Excuse me, ladies." He carefully steps away from them, and towards me.

"You said you would buy us drinks, Martin," one of them says. I don't pay attention. I watch Martin, watch his eyes sparkle as he walks towards me, and feel my joints melt.

"It seems I have a visitor," he smirks. The girls don't matter. Nothing matters as he touches my arm and leans his head in gently towards mine, whispering, "Come with me." _Daredevil, he breathes. Follow me._ At this point my head is spinning, the ground twirling around me in blissful spins. I'm where I belong now. I'm finally safe. SOLDIER, Nibelhiem, Reno...they don't matter as long as I'm under that gaze. He takes my hand gently in his and leads me across the plaza to a house. This is his house, I remember...how could I forget? On the couch, we sit. "Jalen, huh?"

"Do you...do you remember me?" I swallow the knot in my throat. The nervous tangled feeling creeps along my skin as his eyes dart around my face.

"Of course I do," he says softly in his warm voice. "How could I forget you?"

"I joined SOLDIER, Martin," I try to tell him. I feel childish again, small and soft in his arms. "First class, just like Johny dared."

He draws his face closer to mine, and I smell his sweet breath, feel his words dissolve hot and sticky in the skin on my neck, "You look different. Your eyes, Jalen."

"It's...it's the Mako treatment." Dizzy. _So_ dizzy. My head is spinning, still. The colors of the room begin to blur around us, around his beautiful face. I let myself cling onto his shoulders

"They're pretty," he murmurs, his lips sweeping across my skin. My knees buckle. He presses into me, holding the length of his body against me. I feel the heat of his body sink into my skin, his familiar touch sweeping along my thighs. His lips press against my neck, kissing me. My breath shallows, moans escaping the back of my throat. My breathing tenses as he trails his kisses to my lips and presses his mouth hard against mine. His tongue slips into my mouth and works against mine. I feel his hands clutch my back and my hair, his fingers slowly tracing up my sides, gently lifting up the edges of my shirt and pressing against my skin, but I stop him.

"Martin!" it comes out between gasps. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you what you want, but that means I get you too."

"Don't you care at all about where I've been?"

"No, I don't," he mumbles, lips still glued to my neck, trailing lower onto my chest.

"Stop it, Martin!" he stops for just a second and glares at me. I shrink a little; I've never seen this side of him before. I'm not asking for his body, I'm just asking for Martin to be _my_ Martin, understanding and calm and hold me in his arms as if I'd never left—to make things okay, to make the ghost of Nibelheim disappear.

"Jalen, you were stupid to take those dares," he spits. I pull back my fingers into fists. This isn't my Martin anymore. My stomach is knotted into my chest, the tension building against my heart like a snake, constricting its flow and squeezing it until I'm sure it must have stopped. His eyes are dark and malicious. "This is all you've ever been good for."

At his words, the tension shatters, and I feel the pieces of myself begin to unravel, screaming and writhing. Scattered. Those pieces I'd spent weeks collecting, and they fall across the floor of my mind into a million shards, cackling into a burning dementia. _Truth or dare_. Everything I've built...What I fought for...the past five years...

And just like that,

I break.

--

Why the hell do I care again? Because she's a fucking experiment, right. And she's supposed to be dead, right. And if anyone sees her, I'm fucked, riiight...Just keep telling yourself that, Reno. I worked straight through lunch to leave early. Rude gives me the dirtiest stare—thinks I'm trying to get out of work, play hookey and steal extra time off. In a way, I guess that's true.

"You'll have to work more later," he mutters when I grabbed my coat and swing it over my shoulder.

"Rudy-boy," I smirk. "One plus one still equals two. Your addition's just a little slow." Rude doesn't really say anything. He's never been very good at math. I imagine he's still putting the numbers together in his head in his stolid silence. "Anyway, give Laney a squeeze for me, and tell Cissnei not to blow her top. Unless her top comes _off_." He smirks at that one, despite all the mathematics. Tseng will be suspicious, but I could care less what boss-man thinks. He's in love with an Ancient, he might actually sympathize with my efforts to protect Jay. With that, I leave the office.

Kalm is my first destination. Yesterday, I'd searched a nearby city, but no one had seen her. Today, I think a little smarter—it's two days travel by foot to get the Kalm, and even if she got there sooner, I had doubt she'd leave if she found her special little Martin. The _trick_ is how to get her to leave Martin—or should I even force her to? She's not safe in the public eye—that's all I know, and I _think_ that's my motive.

It had rained yesterday, and today it's just as cold. I hate to admit it, but the thought of Jalen in some alley again, eyes lifeless, but this time not able to wake up made me shiver, made me uncomfortable, and frightened. I refuse to believe it though. I have to find her, annoying as she can be. And when I do, she'll probably throw fists and I'll probably have to drag her in the car. Pulling a fighter to the frontlines. Not my smartest idea, but there was no other option.

I stop the car in the Kalm plaza and step out. I probably look pretty weird here, black suit, black pants, black tie, but that doesn't matter. This shouldn't be hard, I think to myself.

And I'm right. The town is quiet, except for a commotion in one house on the other side of the plaza. I walk over—Jalen is good at commotions. The door of the house swings open and a body is thrown out. In the doorway stands a man, yelling, "Come back again, _baby_!"

The girl stumbles onto the floor and stays where she is. That was too easy. I recognize Jalen's thin frame, her broad shoulders and the shape of her round hips. She's wearing something that looks like one of my favorite dress shirts, with thin blue vertical stripes—wait...that _is_ mine—and jeans. That's exactly what she ran out of my apartment in. Sans the pants.

Her hair is a mess, straying all over the place, and she's on her knees, her elbows wrapped around her chest, clenching her body shut. But what really gets me. Her eyes are empty, blank and hollow—like the day I'd found her.

I saunter over her so that my shadow sprawls over her figure. "Well, well, well, look at what we have here," I say. There's no response. "Have a nice little run? You're a slippery one, Jalen. Reckless, merciless, but lacking direction."

She makes no motion.

"Jalen. Get in the car," I demand. She doesn't say anything, but unblinkingly, she slowly pushes herself up with the palms of her hands, awkward like a wound on her bones, and stands. There's an empty expression on her face still. She doesn't speak a word, just carries herself in tiny barefoot steps to the passenger side of the car door. Her hands motionless at her side.

She isn't fighting me. She isn't struggling. Something isn't right.

Maybe it's my pride that prevents me from saying anything. I walk over and swing the door open for her. She sits herself in and I drive.

The entire ride is silent, except for the sudden downpour of rain beating against the windshield. I hate rainy season, but at least it's better than the biting winter cold. After a while, the storm doesn't light, but gets worse. I peer over once or twice, but I can't read the emotion on her face...if there even is one. Her eyes face forward, but it seems as if she's staring inward, at herself.

We get back to the apartment and she walks in and sets herself onto the couch. I sit across from her on the other side.

"Jalen. What's going on. Who was that?" She doesn't say anything, just brings her knees up and holds them to herself. Nothing in her expression changes.

Okay, that's it. I'm in desperate need of alcohol. I go to the kitchen and pour myself some wine. "Honey, I have ways of making you talk," I tell her, but still no motion. I sigh and saunter down the hall to my room. I'll take a break. I grab my suitcase and set my coat on my bed.

I hear the front door open.

Then close.

I don't register it at first. Then it hits me.

I dash out through the hall, out the door, Jalen's about twenty feet out in the open and sitting herself down onto the ground. The rain beats against my arms, seeps into my shirt, and the cold bites at me. She'll die! Worst fucking storm of the century. She'll _freeze_. Crazy bitch!

She doesn't care. She sits right in the middle of the street, her hands complacently at her side, a barren look still clouding her bright blue eyes. The cold sinks into her skin through her close and she gasps, but doesn't move. When I see this, I finally understand. She's given up.

"JALEN! JALEN—ARE YOU CRAZY!?" I grab her thin little body and pick her up, huddling her against my chest.

It's the second I touch her that the tears come. In drops, then streams. The rain's pouring all around us, plummeting in thick streams everywhere and from her eyes. "Jalen..." I carry her quickly back into the warmth of my apartment and flip on the heater. I carry her into my room and drop her onto the bed. I wrap my coat around her and shut her window.

Déjà vu.

She lies, completely subdued, everything in her shaking from the cold.

I sit down next to her and pull the wet hair out of her face. The tears keep on.

"Jalen...what the fuck did he do to you?" she finally looks at me with grave blue eyes.

"Reno," her voice is small and tired. "I'm cold."

Warm clothes...she struggles pulling the shirt over her head through the tears. I turn around and give her privacy. I pull my white tee over my head and drop it to her from behind my back. It's the warmest shirt I can think of now. She shuffles herself into it as I grab another tee from an open drawer and slip it on. She shoves off her pants and tosses them aside, curling her legs to her chest.

I turn around. She looks at me, then quickly looks away, staring again into nothing.

I sigh, and flip off the lights. In the second it takes my eyes to adjust, I drop my slacks—but not for the obvious reason. I slip around to her side and pull the covers over the two of us. She grasps onto my shoulders immediately with her little fingers. It hurts, seeing her so...submissive.

Jalen is a fighter. She never just goes with the flow, always carving her own path from nothing.

But now she's waving the white flag, wearing it in her bones, in the way she stares so bleakly into nothing. Transfixed on her pain.

And I hate to see it. Hate to feel her so calmly against my body without a struggle.

I want to grab her shoulders and shake her, shake this all out of her. I want her to shake me back and tell me to stop it. I want her to fight back.

"Jalen," I mutter. She doesn't respond. Her head is pressed into my neck, her breathing steady and light. I've got to do it. "Truth or dare, Jalen." I feel her breath stop against my neck, my skin tingling where its moist touch had been. I've got to press it out of her. "Come on, Jalen. Truth _or dare_."

Her grip on my shoulders tighten. I feel the tension build into her limbs.

"What, are you _scared_?" I whisper, a smirk curling onto my lips. I know she can see it, feel its challenge in the sly tone of my voice. "Come on. _Truth or dare_, Jalen."

It works. She pushes her fists against me. I look down. She stares at me, her eyes big and glossy, like it's the first time in a long while she's actually registering what she sees. The glare in her eyes is weary, but intense, the fight seeping slowly back into her skin. _That's_ the Jalen I know. I shake her lightly. "Answer me, Jay."

"Dare, you bastard," she murmurs.

I knew this wasn't the time. I knew it was wrong to ask. Yes, she was vulnerable. Yes, she was scared. But we needed to stop playing this cat and mouse game. I needed to know.

"Be honest," I said. "Tell me if you love me." She presses her fist into my chest, a pained expression painting her face. She sighs, slightly exasperated, definitely annoyed.

"You stupid, stupid government scum," she mutters as she pushes against me with her angry little fists, her weariness apparent. The tone of her voice sounds like a sob, like a desperate cry. But she lowers her voice into a shaky whisper. "Why the hell..."

"Come on, _daredevil_."

Silence.

Then a sad attempt to kick me under the sheets that results in me catching her thigh and pulling her closer. She lifts her face so that her lips just barely touch my ear. She prepares herself for the final testimony of the night. I feel her breath, soft and weak against my neck as her response rolls out in a whisper:

"I love you...because you're the only thing that feels right to me, you stupid Turk."

I lower my face to hers and crush my lips against hers.

* * *

**HI AGAIN.** End of chapter! Leave me a message, write a review, whatever. Like I said before, sorry for the pause in updates. I don't really know if what I'm writing is being received poorly or well :( So, **R&R**

I was thinking about bringing the other Turks into play a lot more. Tell me if you want to see it!


	12. Oooh, Sexy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters that belong to Square-Enix...?? I'm not good at disclaimers, you get the point!

Okay, you Reno sex fiends. I think you'll enjoy this chapter. I dedicate this chapter to my wonderful friend, Robin, who never fails to give me lessons on how to "turn on the sexy" when I'm at a dead end in my writing.

So basically, I "turned on the sexy." **R&R.** Tell me if you _like_ the sexy.

* * *

**  
12.  
Oooh, Sexy**

She pulls me close. The scent of her hair all over my skin and her lips right below my ear, teasing me with the tip of her tongue. I shiver, clutching her body closer, her limbs splayed around me. _Reno_. My hands at her thighs, pulling back and forth, easing them apart. _Reno!_ She pulls her face in front of me and her lips begin to part, _Reno. Wake up!_

"Whaat?" I jump in my seat. Damn it all. Just a dream. It takes my brain a few seconds to register that my face is still pressed against my desk and my boss is standing directly over me, watching me struggle to compose myself with a kind of sardonic amusement. "Mmm…..Eaaghh!" I gingerly stretch my arms over my desk, the memory of the dream still lingering tasty in my mind.

Tseng's standing above me, arms-crossed, eyes narrow, and a scowl on his face--nothing out of the ordinary. He demands, "Reno, are you nocturnal now or something? Why do you keep sleeping in the office?" Because a certain little miss keeps me up all night.

"Come on, boss-man. I'm _bored_. There's no work in this office right now," I yawn, but Tseng doesn't look convinced.

"Oh the contrary," he says as he slaps a manila folder on the table. I jump at the sound, but try to play it off with a reach for my goggles. "Intelligence reports have predicted terrorist attacks from a group named AVALANCHE. Their aim is the Mako reactors."

"And I stop them?" I guess.

"No. You're to find a bargaining chip. Once information from Intelligence comes in about their relations, I'm sure a significant hostage will be easy to find."

"Right-y oh, boss," I mumble and settle my head down back onto the table. I don't like the idea of it: kidnapping and all. But that's what happens when you're a Turk. Rules, laws, suddenly don't apply anymore. Sometimes, it's the best feeling in the world, complete freedom. And sometimes, it's more like a trap—no rules to get in the way, no rules to stop the order.

"And Reno.."

"What? I'm trying to sleep here, boss," I mutter, gingerly lifting my head from the table. He ignores me.

"I haven't heard any complaints from Elena in a while," he says, and I'm not quite sure what his musing tone means. Certainly he isn't implying that I _should_. "You aren't harassing her like you usually do anymore."

"Uh..." I scratch my head. "You want me to go feel her up or something? I can--it's not a problem." Besides, if Jay got it out of me, she'd be _furious_. And I like it when she's angry, if you _know_ what I mean.

"No, no. That's not necessary," Tseng clarifies. "I've just been noticing how calm the office is without all the bickering." I nod and set my head back into my arms. Leave, please. Leave, damnit, you're so annoying right now. "So who's the girl?"

"What?" I look up, genuinely surprised. Tseng doesn't_ look _like he's joking, arms crossed, frown on his face—as usual.

"Who's the girl?" he repeats, a smile breaking onto his face.

"Real question is. Who _isn't_ the girl?" I grin, but he doesn't falter.

"Reno. Elena hasn't complained to me in over a month," he crosses his arms over his chest, but his smile is still in place. Usually, I have a good poker face—but he glares like he can see right through to my hand. "Who should I thank? Who is it that's made you finally stop harassing poor Elena? And been giving you bite marks overnight."

"You're crazy boss," I slip my hands under my table. So he's seen the marks all up my arm? Er, that's embarrassing. I least he hasn't seen the ones... "Well, maybe it's a vampire that just can't keep her teeth out of me." Mm, that feisty little girl. I grin my crooked little smirk to get my point across, but Tseng just shakes his head.

He walks out of my office, glaring at me from the corner of his eye, like something's out of place. I snicker, but I pay no attention. Boss-man's gone. Time for a phone call. All this talk about bite marks is making me think about those pretty little lips of hers. And everything those pretty little lips entail...

Stealthily, I dial the number to the cell phone I bought her just a few weeks ago. At first no answer. I can't believe it's already been a month since that whole fiasco. I had found her in Kalm and brought her home safely. That night, she had admitted it, that she loved me, one way or another. Since then...we've been undefined, sharing a bed every night, but still arguing over petty things. I never returned her "I love you." I figure our "love" is casual, passing. But a month later, and I can't get enough of this girl, and even the thought of her makes an unconscious smirk crawl on my face. And the feel of her _skin_—soft and sleek under my fingers like a porcelain doll—I can't get it out of my mind. It's the longest commitment I've willingly made to anyone—besides ShinRa, and that's really just out of duty.

I hear her sexy little voice on the other side.

"Yes?" she demands.

"What are you wearing?"

I hear an exasperated sigh. "Did you really call me _just_ to be gross?"

"No, I called you to find out what you're wearing."

"Absolutely nothing, Reno. And I'm sitting all _alone_ here in your bed. What am I going to _do_ with myself?" she whimpers softly.

"WHAT!?" Bam. I fall out of my chair. I feel something hard clench in my jaw, or...is that lower that I'm feeling? Jalen hears the thud, then the scrambling back to the receiver; I hear her soft voice chuckle on the other end. "I...uh...dropped a nickel."

"Yeah, sure Reno," she laughs and I can't help but smile at its unburdened ring. "Toying with you, pervert. I'm eating lunch. _Fully-clothed_ in the living room."

"Oh," I mutter, lowering my voice to a whisper. "You're gonna _pay_ for that one."

"Oooh, I'm _so_ scared," she mocks, but the tone of her voice is teasing, like a low whine. Sexy. But it sounds even better when it's right next to my ear, in soft pleasurable little moans.

"You'd better be. 'Cause when I come home, you're gonna get it, SOLDIER."

I hear what must be a little smirk, "Bring it, Turk."

And she hangs up. Oh, that girl. She challenges me, but I like it. I've now just got to plan something devious for after work. She'll be waving the white flag when this Turk's through with her. Or maybe we'll just be too tired to care.

Phew. Now where was I? Oh, yes. I slide my forehead back onto my table and draft out my plans. I wouldn't give her the chance to speak, just hurry and get that pretty little frame out of those clothes and run my hands down the smooth skin on her stomach to...

SMACK. I jump. Another file slams on my desk and Tseng's standing with his hands on his hips.

"Tseng, what is your _problem_?" I demand, but he just chuckles softly.

"Reminding you about the company dinner," he says, blunt as ever. "Bring a date. Make sure she doesn't lust for blood."

He walks away again. I settle my head back down. Sure I'd like to bring Jalen, but wouldn't she look a little obvious with those bright eyes of hers? And I'd have to tell her not to mutter to her Ancient friend and the planet every once in a while under her breath...but it's really getting her to _comply_ that's the problem. Though, I'd like to see her all dressed up and not just lounging around wearing my old T-shirts all the time. And then I'd love to take it all off of her later..

Ugh, now I can't sleep. I spring up from my seat and head to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. Elena's standing in the corner of the room, just finishing up a cup. I smirk, this is my chance for some _fun_.

"Hey Reno," she says very casually. Ever since I stopped picking on her and eyeing her at work, she's been surprisingly docile towards me, fond even. That's got to stop. It's weird when she stares at me with that flirty little glimmer in her eye. "Is it true you've got a vampire girlfriend?"

I snicker, "Pretty much. Can't keep her and her teeth out of me." Elena's eyes get all big, like she's really considering what I'm saying for a second. I walk up close to her as I reach for a mug. The coffee's still brewing, so I've got a few seconds to toy with her.

"And you..._like_ that?" she mumbles, brows knit with confusion. Uh...really? For passing rigorous tests and being admitted as a Turk, she can be a little on the gullible side sometimes. Then again, after Vincent Valentine, vampire jokes just stopped being funny.

I glance at the coffee, then at the clock. Without warning, I press Elena against the wall and let my fingers loosely run along her tight little ass. I see the blush on her face. Well that was easy. But she's too shocked to say anything. I pull my lips close to her ear and roll our a low whisper so only she can hear me, "Not as much as I like _you_, Laney..."

And before she can gather herself enough to say anything, I set my mug down again and walk away. I'll get coffee later. I bathe in the satisfaction of know that Elena's standing behind me with that same wide-eyed expression on her face. My work here is done. The next step is to tell Jalen of my devious deed, and reap the consequences with pleasure.

--

When he comes in through the bedroom door he's got that devious grin pulled over his lips like he's got something for me. I ignore him and avert my eyes back to the magazine I was reading like I don't care what he's planning. I stretch my legs a little over his sheets to prepare myself for a counter attack if I hav—OW.

SMACK. The redhead lunges and pulls his body down on me.

"RENO!" I yell and I hear his laugh in my ear.

"Thought you were _so_ cute on the phone, didn't you, Jalen," he lets out in a hushed whisper in my ear, soft but aggressive. I feel his fingers start to move up my shirt, caressing my skin. I stifle a moan at the rough feel of his fingertips.

"I wasn't really aiming for _cute_," I growl and flip us over so I'm straddling him. I can feel him through his slacks. A smirk sweeps onto my face. "Must've dropped that nickel again, huh?"

"Oooh," he says. "Sexy."

"That's a _little_ more like it." I dive and press my lips against his, pulling them lightly with my teeth. He knicks me back, nibbling his teeth into my neck, and I moan. I slip my tongue lightly over the skin under his ear and feeling him tremble beneath me. But before I can get any further, he flips me over and holds me down with his slender hips.

"Wait," he says.

"_Wait!?_" I mock, but he looks mildly serious. "Fine, you've got about two minutes before I pounce." He smirks his crooked little smirk, his eyes lulled over in that lazy little gaze, and I feel myself struggling against my self control. "Maybe _one_. So make it quick."

"Rufus is throwing a dinner party this weekend," he says, playfulness dancing in his eyes. "Dancing, eating, drinking, and I want you to come. With me, of course." My eyes light up. Dancing, drinking, and dressing up. It couldn't be _that_ bad. And the key part—I'd be with Reno.

"You _rarely_ ever let me out of the house."

"It's been cold out still and you _know _I want you all to myself," he says, nibbling on my ear. I feel his hand wandering down the front of my stomach. "So this is your chance to get out."

"So this means..." I pull my head back and watch his hard blue eyes, testing my chances. "Freedom for one whole night." He nods and I squeal. Reno throws his head back and laughs and I watch him with glee. When he looks back at me I lunge at his lips. That's enough talking, I want him _now_.

"Hang on, hang on," he whispers, struggling to get his words out in between my attacks. I unbutton his shirt with my fingertips.

"No, you had your minute, now it's my turn," I murmur as I lock my lips onto his neck, and pull him closer against me, rolling my fingers along his chest. I hear him fight his moans.

"Well ten more seconds," he says and pulls me back a little bit, his grip tense like he's struggling to hold himself back. I'm not _offended_, just irritated. This has gone on long enough from the dirty phone calls to this undeniable tease. Whatever he's about to tell me had better be really fucking important. "Boss asked me why Elena hadn't been complaining about me in so long."

"So?"

"So I felt her up a little bit. Not a big deal, just a little squeeze." His lips curl into that mischievous little smirk. What the fuck? He stopped me just to tell me that? And get me ever more pissed off? "That's all I had to say anyway." His grip tightens and he pulls on my shoulders.

"Fuck _you_," I yell and push him away from me with a shove in the chest.

"What, are you angry?" he grins, fingers still around my waist, my back, pulling himself onto me. I fight the moans as he pulls his body against me.

"Y-yes, you stupid Turk," I stutter. Oh god. Fight it, Jalen, fight it. But I don't_ want_ to. I want him to stop teasing me and just do it already. And why would he tell me this now? It makes me so frustrated.

"Good," he whispers, "That's the point." He tugs at the edges of my shirt, and I push his hands away, but it's no use. I'm melting into his touch. He tangles my fingers in his and looks down at me with fiery eyes. I try to look away, but he catches my face with his lips.

"You'll be sorry for that one," I mumble, but my voice sounds so small. He clutches my back as he pulls my shirt over my head. My voice disappears into soft moans as I feel the tip of his tongue over my collarbone. His lips meet mine again and he slips his tongue into my mouth, caressing it back and forth against my own. I push him over and crawl on top of him. He grins a crooked smile and chuckles softly.

"_Ooo, try_ me," he encourages. I glare at him but he doesn't falter. I kiss his neck, pulling off his belt with my hands. I feel his hand reach for my back. He sweeps his kisses over my shoulder, and when I relieve him off his slacks with my fingertips I hear his soft moans in my ear, trembling as his hot breath touches my neck.

His eyes lock onto me with a look I can't understand, like he's serious, his lips pressed together like he's stopping himself from saying something. Suddenly I feel that pull in my chest, that melancholy stab an unrequited heart feels when it reaches for the one it can't have. I look away but he lifts my chin and carefully, kisses my lips, each one tender and sweet. I melt. It's impossible to avoid the feeling. I feel his arms circle onto my back, clutching my skin as he begins to thrust.

Electricity spikes through me, a deep and stinging pleasure that seeps into my skin like water to a rag, and suddenly I'm drenched in him. In his scent—like spices, in the red of his hair and cheeks, and in the melodic pleasure of our bodies working in synchronization, like a dance.

We collapse onto each other when we've finished. I shift myself under the sheets to turn my back to him but he catches my arm and stops me. Goddamnit. Why am I so masochistic? I turn back to him and he pulls my body close to his, lifting me up so that his forehead presses evenly against mine. His body is completely calm and fluid, wrapped around me, his fingers twirling around the skin on my thigh—their favorite place to be.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, and neither do I. Under the evening moonlight, we lay, our bodies tangled into a mess of glistening skin. The silence is sad and weary on my heart, and broken as soon as he lets out a deep sigh that tingles my skin. I look up to meet his gaze and his sharp blue eyes leer into mine, as if they're searching for something important.

"What do you _want_, Reno," I murmur as I close my eyes to avoid that jab in my chest. My feelings for him haven't faltered even though I thought they easily would. And as much as I'd like to believe he feels similar, deep down I know he hasn't felt much but lust for me.

Without asking, he presses his lips against mine and flicks his tongue across my teeth. Very gently he lets my lips go, then lift his head to kiss my forehead. My confusion heightens. _Why_ would he do that? Why would he make such a tender gesture? Everything in me wants to believe he cares, even the tiniest bit. But my mind knows that's preposterous. A Turk...and a fugitive SOLDIER. I'm nothing to him but business. And once he's sick of me, our temporary bliss is through. He'll turn me in and that'll be that.

I sigh at these thoughts, clinging onto his shoulder and running a hand through his soft hair. There's no happy ending with a Turk. It's just not possible. I'm just gambling on time.

He pulls me up so his head fits perfectly at the nook of my neck and buries his face into my skin. His breathing is steady and moist on my skin, his lips and teeth occasionally brushing along my jaw line.

I sigh and push at him, but he only draws me closer into him.

"I really hate you, Reno," I murmur under my breath and I hear him laugh.

"No you don't," he snickers in a low tone.

"Yes I do."

"No, you really don't," he corrects me and kisses my neck. A small moan escapes the back of my throat.

"How would you know? You're not in my head."

"You _told_ me you don't," he mumbles in between kisses.

"I could've been lying," I try to convince him but I just hear his soft chuckle ring in my ear again.

"Well then this is a weird way to prove your hatred to me," he mumbles into my neck, then latches his lips onto me just below the jaw line. "Maybe I'm not in your _head_... but..."

"Don't call me weird..." I mutter and he just chuckles again.

"Whatever, SOLDIER." He pulls himself up to press his forehead against mine again. I can hear the smile in his voice. His eyes are closed and there's a little smirk on his face. It frustrates me that he won't listen to me, but even more so that that's what he might really think of me. I sigh in exasperation.

"I really do hate you," I tell him and watch him lift his eyelids just a little to glance at me lazily with those bright blue eyes.

"No, Jalen," he says. "You _really_ don't." He lifts my chin with his fingertips and softly kisses me, lingering with his soft lips. He folds his arms around me so I'm tightly tucked against his chest. And for a reason I can't understand, he showers me in kisses through the night.

And somehow, I let my control escape me, taking in everything around me: his sweet scent, that heavy-lidded stare he always gives me, the tender pull of his lips on mine, and the utter completeness I feel, lying in his arms, that not even since I was given life had I ever felt before. I was born broken, but with him I feel full. He makes me believe it's possible, lets me dream a dream that could never be. But makes me yearn for it more than anything...

Stupid Turk. I hate him...

No, no I really don't.

* * *

**A/N** Yes? Was the sexy good?

Plans for the next chapter(s): Dinner party (wink), Rufus, Elena and lots of _sexy_. What's Reno with sexy anyway? :P

R&R


	13. Circus

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Square-Enix.

Hey! It's been a while! So, yes, I'm alive, but busy and making big tough decisions in my life. I actually wrote most of this a long time ago, wrote the ending today and am updating now.

When it comes to writing this kind of stuff, I'm really bad at it and it's really slow. But more snowballing occurs after this chapter, since the last two have not been that much plot progressing. :D

This is a fun chapter, so please enjoy it. Also, enjoy your summer. And R&R!

-loverlyzee

* * *

**13.  
Circus**

"Contacts or wig," I ask, in one hand a little plastic container with brown colored contacts, and the other a long sweeping blonde wig. She glares up at my unwavering smirk. I can read the blatant incredulity in her eyes that plainly states she's thoroughly offended by the offering, but I pretend not to notice anyway.

"You're not _serious_, are you?" she demands.

"Serious as day," I smirk. "Can't have a Mako-treated Cetra going to a ShinRa company ball looking like a Mako-treated Cetra, now can we?"

"_Half_-Cetra," she mutters. I wrap my lanky arms around her and lick the skin beneath her ear—soft and tender, like the rest of her body. I feel her shivers rumble into my chest.

"_Still_ of interest, weirdo. Now pick." I hold my hands out again and she eyes the choices precariously. "I'm partial to the contacts."

"Do _not_ call me weird," she mutters, snatching up the contact case, and dashes for the bathroom. I watch her go, the hips swaying left and right, and feel that familiar crooked smile creep on my cheeks. Watching women—examining their assets, up close or from afar—is nothing new to yours truly, but recently, I've been particularly fond of this half-Cetra.

It's not a big deal, I keep telling myself. Just a case of those very "assets" within arms-length—that's why I'm so addicted to her skin, and her scent. Yes, her _scent_, the sweet subtleness it leaves on my sheets every night—it reminds me of summer evenings and how, locked in her arms, time seems to freeze.

Speaking of time, she's been in the bathroom for almost half an hour now. I rap on the door with my knuckles. "Hurry up or I knock the door off its hinges!" I yell.

"Calm the fuck down, Reno!" I hear and chuckle—that spicy attitude of hers is what makes bedtime so delicious. The door clicks, then swings open, and I stumble back to avoid getting severe brain damage.

Out she steps, hair swept back into a casual bun and that sexy little frame of hers in a canary yellow thin strapped dress, synched at the waist and tucked close to her body to just above her knees, and three inch tall bright red pumps. And her eyes—bright glowing and brown, like they used to be. God damn. I reach for her waistline and press myself against her. In a second my lips are all over her neck, her jaw, her collarbone and her moans are soft and soundless in her throat.

But she shoves me off her.

"Well, I take it you like it," she smirks a little bit as she untangles my fingers from their grasp on her waist and back.

"Understatement of the year," I scoff. "I want you _now_." I lunge, but she dodges me.

"We need to leeeaavee," she teases. "And I will not have you messing up my make up or hair. It takes a long fucking time to look this good." God damn it. She snatches up my coat and hers; she wraps her fingers around the tips of mine, pulling me forward. She doesn't even have to. I'd follow that tight little ass in that tight little dress anywhere. If I could just get my hands on that skin—

Abruptly, she turns right before the door and lands a tender kiss on my lips. When she opens her eyes in the wake of the kiss on my lips she smiles at me. Maybe it's those contacts, but watching those eyes open up, brown and beaming, moved me somewhere in my gut. I lean my lips down onto hers and kiss them gently. The word hits me like a missile out of nowhere.

Do I…her? Those lips that are pulled so evenly against mine, so warm and petite—if they were against anyone else's but my own, I would be furious. I burn and writhe at the thought and I feel my lips turn violent. She pulls back in response and gives me a hard look with those solid brown eyes.

"_What_, Reno?" she asks.

"Nothing," I murmur. "Get in the car." I open the door. She frowns at me and walks out.

"You and your fucking mood swings, Turk. I don't get it," she mutters.

I wish I knew what to tell you, SOLDIER.

---

Glamour, scandal, and murder. What can relate all three words? Isn't that obvious? ShinRa. Entering the ballroom was like waltzing into a nightmare holding a glass of champagne. Watching these people dressed up in their suits and ties during a time of economic and moral spiral in the outside world was like attending a circus. I burn at the thought—that these men and women who have killed so many people can still walk around in their fancy brand name clothes like they've done nothing wrong. It's the greatest paradox, the deadliest irony.

Reno leads me through the marble floors to a table with a group of people sitting around; it's just the nightmare I expected, four tall, beautiful figures lounging, sipping champagne out of tall glasses. Each of them, calm and quiet like statues held in place; you'd never guess that each and every one of them is a cold-blooded killer.

The dark-haired man stands to greet Reno, giving him a pat on the back.

"Good man, Reno," he says, smirking. "Prettiest lady in the room, and who might you be?"

"I'm—"

"This is Kaylen," Reno cuts me off. I haven't even thought about it—I was about to give them my real name; I would have set up and set off a trap for the Turks themselves. "Kaylen, this is Tseng, head of the Turks."

"Well, pleasure to finally meet you, Kaylen," Tseng says, reaching for my fingers and grasping them firmly in his hand. His glare is stern and serious as if he's analyzing me. I look back at him with what I imagine to be equal fervor—the dirty murderer. All of them.

"Finally?" I ask in a controlled tone that I try to make light and airy, another great paradox. The context of our conversation is loaded, but here we were making dangerous small talk of my pseudo relationship with their top. "What has Reno here been saying?"

"Nothing," Reno says quickly. "I met Kaylen about a week ago. Don't know what you're talking about, boss-man."

"Yeah, we met at a sock convention," I feel his grip tighten around my wrist. "He was wearing argyle socks, it was absolutely adorable." Tseng's serious face breaks into a smile; Reno's is bright red, and the glare from the corner of his eyes is vicious. The lie burns, doesn't it, Reno? You deserve it, Turk.

"Argyle, huh, Reno?" Tseng looks slightly amused.

"You got me, Tseng," Reno shrugs stiffly, apparently angry. I smile with glee—this night could be fun. As we approach the table to greet the rest of Reno's team I hear him hiss in my ear, "You're _dead_, SOLDIER."

"Looking forward to it, argyle," I snicker. Angry Reno is good under the covers and all over the room.

And now I meet them all; Rude shakes my hand without saying a word—I'm not even sure if he's looking at me with those sunglasses on. Elena meets me with a firm grip, her eyes hard on mine, as if she's protective of Reno, but she doesn't scare me. I can take that bitch down with one hand behind my back. Rufus is an interesting character. His flirty blue eyes lock onto mine, even as he bends his head forward and kisses the back of my hand.

The night drags on awkwardly, but imaginatively. The Turks casually question me about my background, cleverly weaving their questions in with normal conversation, as if trying to catching me off guard, and all the while, sipping their tall glasses of champagne. My answers never falter for a minute, I weave a fairly plain tale of a girl named Kaylen Shiring who grew up in the destitute part of Wutai and made money of the steady business of vending materia. So far, they've bought it, and whenever they pop in a few questions, I answer them without fail, laughing or giggling to make myself seem natural and calm.

Through the entire night, Reno's his eyes are glued to me, and that's the _real_ thrill. Every time I glance over at him, his sharp eyes were on mine, his hand on his chin as if thoughtful about something. When the others aren't looking I shoot him a few sharp glances right back at him, and quickly he gives a low snarl and flashes me his molars. I am not to be intimidated. I flick the tip of my tongue across my upper lip and he retreats from the attack, leaning back in his seat and rustling in discomfort.

My attention suddenly diverts. Over the last hour, Rufus had flashed his flirty eyes in my direction more than three times and felt compelled to ask me endless questions. Finally, he presses his fingertips into the side of my thigh, and leans his head in as if to tell me a secret. I oblige out of courtesy.

"You're a beautiful girl, Kaylen," he whispers, his voice low and sultry. I feel something drop to my gut. Way to be inconspicuous, Jalen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I know what comes next. "The party's ending, but I'd like to keep talking to you."

"Why Mr. ShinRa President, I'm quite flattered," I exclaim, trying to suppress the panic in my voice. "But I'd probably better get home right away."

"I insist, I can give you a ride to my place and we can have a couple drinks, chat," Rufus says. I feel a kick at my heel and turn my eyes slightly to see Reno, looking absolutely livid.

"Excuse me," Reno mutters and jolts from his seat. He walks off in some direction, behind Rufus's eyeshot then jerks his head angrily, beckoning for me to follow him.

"I'd better go see what's wrong with him," I smile politely and spring from my seat before Rufus can object. I follow where Reno had been behind a set of pillars, but as soon as I step into the next room I feel a heavy jerk on my arm, and before I know it Reno's got me pinned with his hips against the wall, his lips urgently pressed against mine. His hands start to wander.

"Reno! Reno!" I pull away. "Would you _stop_ it!?" I try to pry his hands off, but his fingers are intent on their destination. I roughly push him away. "What am I supposed _to do_!?"

"Meet me in the bathroom in five? We could make it fast and—"

"About RUFUS, Reno! What am I supposed to do about RUFUS?" His smirk falters a little bit at the mention of it.

"You can't say no," he says with a snarl. "He's obviously got his eye on you and he's the president. He always gets what he wants." I scowl. Sleeping with the president? I'm not a _whore_, I can't just be passed around from man to man like some kind of _toy_. I open my mouth to protest, but he interjects. "Look, we'll figure it out, but right now, damn Jalen." His fingers are all over me again, around my waist, under the edges of my dress and reaching up my thigh.

"No! This is fucking ridiculous, Reno!"

"Calm down. Just go with him. I'll handle it," Reno says, then leans in so that his lips are at my ears, his breath on my neck. "And then I'll handle _you_, SOLDIER." I fight the shivers in my spine.

I shove him off with an effort. "You'd _better_ handle this unless you want a _very _uncomfortable dry spell, Turk."

We walk back to the table as if nothing had happened. Reno still looking angry and bothered and myself, composed and calm. The president always has his way.

"What was that about?" Rufus asks as soon as I take my seat next to him again. I feel Elena's eyes piercing through me, as if I'm the devil incarnate.

"I had to say goodnight to Reno," I lean my face close to his and whisper. "Since he won't be giving me a ride home tonight." I glimpse Rufus's smirk. Seducing the ShinRa president, how sick is that? But aren't they all? Tonight, I'll have to be careful. If Reno doesn't follow through, I don't know exactly what will happen. I may be walking right into a trap. Mako-treated half Cetra seducing the ShinRa president, like the prey warming up to the predator—what a joke.

The car ride becomes interesting. He has his hands wherever he can grasp, touching my arm, my knee, then slowly tracing his fingers towards my thigh. His words are soft and tender in my ear, telling me how pretty my brown eyes are and how soft my skin is, trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But I know better. The male species are all the same. They all want the same thing.

Besides, this kind of wooing never did any good on me. I've always been attracted to the roughness, to the sharp and edgy. If Reno had normal colored hair I'd probably be less keen on him. If he didn't cuss whenever he felt like it, I'd probably be less likely to respond to him. If he didn't wrestle me into place in bed I'd probably enjoy my nights less.

After the ride back, Rufus leads me into his presidential suite, pulling my gently by the fingers. The room is large with a great view of upper Midgar, the sectors alight with nightlife. The lights are dim, he pours me a glass of champagne and kisses the back of my hand. He pours himself a glass and takes a sip.

"So Miss Kaylen," he says, lifting the back of my hand to his lips and kissing them softly. "Come take a seat, please." He pulls me towards the bed and sits down next to me. I sit hesitantly. Reno said he'd handle it. I feel myself start to shake and I can't tell if it's with anger or with fear.

Rufus presses his lips against my shoulder blade and trails them up in little kisses to my ear. I feel his fingers running up my inner thigh and I feel like I'm going to puke. "Your eyes are beautiful," he whispers. _Your eyes, Jalen...they're pretty_. He leans in for the kiss and I clench my eyes tight and hold my breath. Please don't, please don't. Goddamnit Reno I'm going to fuck you up later. His face suddenly stops and there's no movement. What's happened?

I open my eyes, his face is blank, his expression unreadable as if someone just punched him and he's still suffering the aftershock. Suddenly he falls backwards onto the bed.

"Um...okay?" I mutter and lean over his face to see what's going on. He's not faking it, he's just completely and utterly out. In the corner of the room I hear a quiet snicker.

"So predictable, Mr. President," I hear Reno's voice.

"Reno! Did you...? How in the world…?"

"Does it matter? He won't remember anything in the morning," he smirks triumphantly. "Would've been fun if you drank the champagne too. But you're feistier when you're awake." He walks up to me and puts his hands around my waist. "Mm Jay," he whispers in my ear; I feel his hot breath turning the skin on my neck moist. "You look _good_."

"Reno!" I yell. I'm horrified by the fact that the president of ShinRa is lying unconscious less than a foot away from me after having tried to seduce me and now this pervert is trying to get into my dress. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" he grins. "What do you say we rough the place up a little, hm? Make it look realistic for when the big boy wakes up tomorrow morning." His hands are all around and back and at the clasp of the dress. He undoes it lightly and begins to pull the zipper down.

"Re-no!" I yell and push him off, zipping back up. "Let's just get going.." I turn around and head for the door, but it's not long before I feel him behind me pressing himself against me and holding me in place with his hands on my hips.

"Your ass looks nice in that dress," he says. "It'd look nicer without it though."

"You know what?" I turn around and push him over, he falls with a girlish squeal. I climb on top of him and pin him down between my legs. I lean down and kiss his lips, playfully biting his lower lip. As I hear his moan in my ear, I snatch the car keys out of his hand and stand up and head towards the door.

Before I even get a step, he's on top of me, growling playfully.

"I'm not letting you leave without a little struggle," I push him to the ground and straighten out my dress. He wants it, this is my chance to use that to my advantage.

"Before we left, you held your tongue," I say. He settles down where I've thrown him leaning back on his hands and watching me with close eyes as I stand up over him to make my testimony. "I recognized that look."

"Don't know what you're talking about--" he snarls and pulls me towards him by my thighs with his fingertips.

"Say it, Reno," I resist as he pulls me closer to him.

"No."

"Say it. Out loud. Right now," I demand and push his hands off me. He sighs and reaches again for the hem of my dress.

"No, Jay."

"You scared, Reno? Say it or say goodbye," he pulls me against him so that the length of his torso is presses against my thighs. He buries his face into my dress and reaches up, stroking the back of my thigh with his fingers. I can feel the struggle in his breath. An indicator, I was right, there was something he held back.

"Stupid bitch," he mutters.

He doesn't know. He doesn't understand what he feels, what I can see his eyes, in his actions and movements. The feelings I've known so well all my life, motivated my every movement, and whether in vain carried me to where I am now. How many deaths? How many people lying on the floor in front of him, sprawled in their own blood did it take for him to refuse the emotion, completely stomp the memory of love, of _being_ loved from his mind. How many bodies, how many women did he have to lie next to, searching for that lost emotion again, to realize it had gone? How many lips and tongues and thrusts until he gave up?

It's three words. Even two will do.

He refuses it. I see the confusion in his eyes. Like he doesn't understand what he's feeling, or lost control of the situation.

"The answer is no," he says.

"Then mine is 'no' too," I say and head towards the door. He rises and snatches me by the waist, pressing me against the door.

"Well I wanna hear you _moan_ your answer in my ear," he says and presses his lips against mine. Before I can protest my zipper is undone and my dress slips down over my hips, and his hands are all over me. That's it, he's asking for it. I drop his slacks and topple on top of him on the floor, but he won't have it.

He struggles his way on top and I feel his hands crawling all over my body, tracing my curves as the moans escape my mouth.

"_No_, Reno," I find myself moaning and the smirk spreads across his face.

"Good girl," he smirks.

I resent him. With every fiber in my being I struggle with him, but the more I do, the more I find myself in love with him. It's a vicious endless cycle. The more he wins the more I hate him and the more I hate him the more I love him. Our bodies struggle against each other, as if a kind of dance all through out the night, painted in dark hatred, equally deep love, and the red of lust.


	14. The Missing Word

Disclaimer: **I don't hate Elena. I actually admire her character as a strong female character. I chose her for this because it made sense to me at the time.**

**PLEASE READ FIRST: I haven't updated in a very long time, but I wrote this chapter _months_ ago. It's just been sitting around on my computer because I've been very unsure about the content of this chapter. It crosses a lot of boundaries that might make people uncomfortable-I definitely felt uncomfortable writing it. However, tonight, I finally said reminded myself that when I set out to write this story, it was all an experiment for two different reasons: 1) trying a new first person, candid writing style and 2) examining some of the extreme, dark natures of human interactions of angsty, deeply flawed characters (whom I love). **

**So I'm going to post this chapter, and follow through with my original snowballing plan. I hope you, the reader, can respect my decision not to happy-go-lucky story and pursue my attempts to play with these beautifully flawed characters in a manner I see fitting to their natures. Thanks, you're the best.**

* * *

**14.  
****The Missing Word**

"_Say it, Reno."_

"_No."_

When I recall it, the blood rushes to my cheeks. How did I let myself fall into that trap? I felt the challenge deep in her eyes as they caught the moonlight and sparkled fiercely; it was suffocating, pinned in the corner. Just recollecting, the frustration squeezes my lungs so that I can't breathe to full capacity, and floods my system. The cycle repeats. I remember the hot anger I felt, the burning knot caught in my throat, the choking sensation as I glared right back into those fiery blue eyes.

"_Say it. Out loud. Right now."_

"_No, Jay."_

Fuck, I hate this.

I crush my head against my hands on my desk and shut my eyes tight. In the background, the normal noises of work carry on, oblivious of my dilemma—the buzz of the fax machine in the copy room, the giggles of Elena and Tseng. But _why_? Why do I have these gagging sensations in the back of my throat? Why does my face get red and my fingers clench? The anger _must_ stem from her pushiness, her drive to get me to say something I can't feel.

Or does it actually originate in the prompt itself? Do I... her?

And I'm back to square one.

"_You scared, Reno? Say it or say goodbye."_

Fuck. This sinking feeling, what the fuck is this? I woke up this morning, pried myself away from Jay's tender grasp around my chest, and poured myself a full two glasses of wine before catching my train. It didn't ease my mind. And here I am at work, head in my hands, craving another glass that I know in my gut won't remedy this frustration. Black, dark, tangled, frustration—like I could put my hands around the throat of the closest living thing, hold tight, and take pleasure in watching its life drain away from its body.

Fuck this. Fuck it all.

I pound a fist into the table in one swift smack. I hear a yip right in front of my desk, and then a girlish giggle. Very reluctantly, I lift my head, and there stands Elena, ass wrapped up a tight pencil skirt and dress blouse tucked in with two buttons too many undone, giving me a little peek at the suggestive round curves of her chest.

"What do you want, blondie?" I ask, leaning my head onto my right hand and glancing up at her from an angle.

She leans her body in against my desk and tries to cover her overtly seductive gesture with a cheeky little grin on her face.

"What're you up to later?" she asks, that grin still covering her face. There's a look about her face I can't quite put my finger on—familiar, but one I've never seen on Laney's usually timid countenance. "I was wondering if you'd like to go get a drink or something."

As she speaks, she flicks her tongue lightly over her teeth. It clicks in my head.

"You asking me out, 'Laney?" her grin widens as she nods. "Thought you couldn't stand the sight of me. Why the change of heart, baby?"

"Just missed you, Reno," she giggles, her breasts noticeably shaking in its convulsion. What a lie. After seeing me with another chick at the company dinner last night, Elena seems to have caught a case of the love bug. The _jealous_ love bug that is. I smirk at her. Her actions say yes, begging for me, and mine should be reciprocating, but for some reason I feel no response.

Okay, Reno. Hot babe, shaking her goodies in your face. What the fuck is wrong with me? Usually, I feel the response immediately and never miss an opportunity. But am I...? _Do I...her?_

Fuck _that_. Fuck _love._ I never understood it anyway. In a Turk's world, there's no place for its existence, except for the love for the job, love for the money it brings. I never signed myself into any formal contract with the girl at home. I'm fucking Reno the Turk; I am not capable of tying myself down to just one body, and this'll be my proof.

"Well, 'Laney, I've missed you too."

* * *

It's almost midnight.

I watch the clock on the wall and kick my feet onto the stout little coffee table. There was just a bit of wine left in his favorite bottle even though we'd purchased a new one just a few nights ago. I swish the deep red liquid slowly in my glass and try not to think of the time that has passed. I wiggle my toes and watch the lamplight catch on my toenails. I take the remote and turn on the television to catch the late night news reviews. Perhaps something big happened and that's why he isn't home yet.

Not that I really care. Not that the bastard means anything to me other than something to keep me warm at night. I just hope he's okay.

An hour later. The street lamps have shut off outside, and I can hear a drunken couple getting it on in the apartment next door. The cold begins to bite so I turn the heater on and snuggle up with a blanket. The news reported nothing remotely interesting, which means this Turk isn't out on business tonight. Hopefully he caught the train alright or didn't get in an accident on his way back. It'd be a tragedy to have him all beat up without me contributing to it from under the covers. Although the prospect of wild scars turns me on a little bit.

I don't care all that much. I just don't want to wake up the next morning and find that the pervert died or something morbid like that while I swished the rest of his wine away.

Three hours past midnight. There's no noise at all, from anywhere. Just me and my thoughts, swirling. Goddamn Turk, where the fuck are you? Yes, I do fucking care about you. You'd better be fucking dead though. To make me wait like this you'd better have accidentally fallen in front of that stupid fucking train and died.

Somewhere in my slightly inebriated, angry stupor, I feel myself drifting to sleep. I hope he comes home when I'm asleep. And I hope he sees that I've finished off his favorite bottle of wine, and I hope he hates me for it.

* * *

Just another night.

I wake up and Laney's arms and legs are spread all over my torso. Sexy little thing. Her skin is soft, without the slight roughness all the years of intense training that Jay has. There's not a scar or scratch in sight, delicate as a flower.

It showed.

When I scratched her last night, she yelped a noise I'd never hear from Jay. She never once struggled against my body as Jay would've, but remained passive and submissive. Her touch tender and smooth like the bland white sheets around us, as if she melted right among them and disappeared.

I sit up. She rolls off of me and snuggles against a nearby pillow. Such a voluptuous body, this girl, yet I had to get wasted to make myself give into her natural charms. Three rounds of the darkest alcohol were not enough. I glance at her one last time before standing up and pulling on my slacks. The thin sheets are draped over her chest, her arms and legs tucked close to her body. Quite a beauty. And for some reason, when I see her, I feel nothing. Just a piece of nicely shaped flesh, proof that I don't love. And I never will.

So why do I feel so sick? As I walk towards the train station, I feel something unusual in my gut, a burning acidic sensation that weighs me down with each step. As if there were a clamp on my lungs, my breathing is heavy and uneven.

In front of my door, I pull out the key to my apartment, and push the door.

It slowly swings open.

On the couch, she sits, her knees tucked against her chest, a blanket pulled tightly around her back. The sun seeping through the blinds throws a glowing golden pattern of crescents across her legs. _"Jalen. What's going on. Who was that?" She doesn't say anything, just brings her knees up and holds them to herself. Martin.._

She tilts her head towards me. Her ice blue eyes connect with mine for just a split second—and in that one moment, the frustration I tangled with, the weight of my night away cascades into my chest where one should have a heart; I feel myself fold into a complete state of inanition.

One split second, I see it all. The sadness is written across her eyes, wide and glossy, her brows arch at an incline. Fear paints her face pale. And confusion begins to consume her frame. She breaks eye contact and quickly glances in frustration at her toes, tightening her grip around her legs.

But what stops me is a less apparent emotion: worry. She had worried about me, clawed down her thick walls brick by brick throughout the night until she lay raw as she heard the door swing open. And as soon as she looks away, I see her scurrying to put those bricks back in place, desperate to close up again before the hurt touches her fragile self directly.

Too late.

In the corner of her eye. A single drop.

It catches the light.

And rolls.

She doesn't wipe, just sits still as a statue as it streaks her cheek in a glistening trail and lets the next one follow. And then another. Silent, tears piling from her eyes as the sun pulls golden shapes across her pale skin. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Two steps. That's it would take. Two steps to stand next to her and tell her I'm sorry. To sit, grab her firmly by her shoulders, cradle that mess of black hair into my chest, and halt the tears in their tracks. She'd push me away, angry, pounding her little fists into my chest, but I'd just pull her closer and take in that sweet scent of hers. I'd tell her how I really feel. How the night away only confirmed her suspicion, and in all my actions she was on my mind all night. How I'm just this fucked up kind of guy who needs to push people away, and _lie _to myself. Because I'm a coward. Because I'm so callous. Because I..._Do I… her?_

Those two steps I don't take.

It's mechanical. 6 A.M. Time to catch my train. My feet take me into my room, I change a shirt, grab my coat and suitcase and turn to leave. What halts me is that mess of red hair, the lipstick marks all over the pale skin—my reflection in the full length mirror. Why should I be surprised? This isn't an uncommon sight for a man like me, and yet... I feel, for the first time, not an influx of confidence at seeing my disheveled appearance, but instead, _disgust_.

6:10 A.M. I'll be late. Back into the living room. The victim sits unmoved from where I last saw her. With a quick glimpse, I see the tears are gone, but the eyes, void of anything at all. Their hollow blue emptied of any visible emotion. She doesn't stir as I walk past, still as a statue, but then again, I'm not there long.

Out the door and just barely caught the train. I sit in my seat, and as I watch the array of panoramic scenes stumble past my window like a movie reel, I wonder to myself. What possessed me to tip past the line, to get my hands to pull that little slip dress off of her shoulders. How had I mustered up the intention to bring my body onto hers? _Do I… her? _Knowing that _she_ had been waiting at home, sitting on my couch, standing at the kitchen table, under the sheets of my bed, in my very apartment. Knowing that _she_ would know exactly what I had chosen to do by the third hour I was late. And during that third hour, while I was building towards a guilty climax with another lady partner, how had I found the motivation to shake the vision of _her_ sitting alone on my couch, with _her_ legs pulled to _her_ chest with an empty wine glass in _her_ hands out of my mind, to stop me.

Because I had known that's where she'd be, in that position, her empty eyes pulling her thoughts inward, her ears straining to hear the click of the door, hoping that her own vision of me with a nameless buxom blonde was false.

That test I failed. We both did.

_Do I _love _her?_

The missing word.

_Do I love Jalen? Jay... I think I ... _

In the office. At my desk. Head down. Work as usual.

I hear a fax coming in on the machine, but choose to ignore it. New mission means nothing right now to a man who feels nothing. Before long, Tseng's in the room, standing above me and clearing his throat to catch my attention. I feign sleep for as long as I can, but he kicks the foot of the desk and I pop my head into the air.

"Fuck is your problem, boss?" I snarl. He's stoic as ever.

"How's Kaylen?" He asks. I feel myself sink again into my chest.

"How the hell should I know, she went home with Rufus that night, 'member?" I mutter and put my head back into the faux pillow that is conjunction of my bicep and forearm. "You come in here just to gloat or something? That's cold, Tseng."

"No," he replies with a serious tone. "We have reason to believe your date was lying about her identity. And that Aerith might be a little less special than we thought."

I feel something in my chest drop. I stare up at him and sit up straight. In an attempt to keep my voice from shaking, I swallow hard. "I don't follow," I lie.

He slides the earlier fax onto my desk without breaking eye contact. "You next mission, Reno. You can start tomorrow. Go home, you've got the rest of the day off." He turns, and the last glimpse he throws at me isn't as hard as the rest of the conversation, but reflects sadness. Or what is it...pity.

Slowly, I let my sight drop to the papers in front of me. I see Jay's daunting blue-eyed glare in a printed picture.

The headline reads:

_Directive #721, Capture Subject: Cetra Candidate Jalen Zhu._

* * *

**Please read note _before_ chapter begins if you have not yet. R&R as usual. Thanks, reader, you're beautiful.**


	15. A Goodbye Kiss

A/N: **First, an apology, for disappearing on such a dramatic note. I love writing this story and I've learned so much about these flawed characters, as well as myself as a writer, over the years. Similar to the last chapter, I finished this nearly half a year ago, but was unsure how I wanted to approach the result of the chapter.**

**Excuses, excuses. I'm sticking to my guns with this one. This is how I imagined the direction of this story when I first started writing, and I'm not doing the characters, the readers, or myself any good in holding onto this any longer.**

**Thank you, reader, for sticking with me throughout this journey. Life has pulled me in many directions, but your kind reviews have been my rock. As things finally settle down for me, I promise I'll do my best to continue to update as I see fit.**

* * *

**15.**  
**A Goodbye Kiss**

_Each drop, ice. Scraping, clawing against my paper shell. The inviting warmth of death, arms outstretched in the middle of the worst storm of the century. I close my eyes to welcome its dark sensation._

_Jalen...what the fuck did he do to you? His voice, sharp. His gaze, sharp. This sharp man asks me with soft eyes._

_A squeak of a noise from my throat, nearly closed to the ice. I'm cold._

_Limbs frozen solid. The cold seeps deeper, clawing beneath my surface with jagged nails, tingling, biting. Closing in, vision slowly dissipating into a noiseless black._

_Sheets, stone, scraping against my raw legs, pulled up against my chest. The cold's already soaked through my skin. The small thump of my heart, slowly, gradually, slumps. I brace for the darkness. Eyes peeled open, but seeing nothing._

_He slips in next to me. Warm arms wrap me up into the circle of his embrace. Spice—the scent engulfing, enrapturing my nostrils. The heat spreads. A wildfire, lighting each nerve ablaze. Suddenly, the darkness begins to recede from which it came. _

_His hold tightens, securely fastening me against him. He won't let me die here. The darkness melts, I melt—into a new sensation, boiling and brewing in my chest, emboldened by his scent, the tender heat of his skin._

_Reno...I love you._

* * *

Dread.

A dead weight. It's strung around my chest and limbs in a knot as it slowly drags me underwater. I can see my breath leave me, floating to the surfacing in small helpless bubbles that quickly dissipate.

A boa constrictor, wound against my ribcage, slowly and surely tightening its grip in preparation for consumption. It bites deep into my chest. Engulfs me. Contracting with each breath.

This is the fucking longest train ride home. And all I can feel is this dread.

I have no choice.

I clutch the papers tightly in my hand. I read the title again: _Directive #721: Capture Centra Candidate Jalen Zhu._ This can't be happening. Fucking damn it. The grave look on Tseng's face when he gave me the rest of the day off—how badly I wanted to give him a solid fist to the face. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe if I close my eyes, I'll wake up, the dread will disappear and I'll surface. But it isn't. It fucking isn't.

What happens if they take her? No..._when_ they take her?

Fuck. My heart pounds against the metal cage in my chest. _When_ they take her.

What choice do I have?

We could run.

We'd disappear into the countryside, purchase a small residence with the money I've saved. We'd live simple lives together in secrecy. Wake each morning to the thought of just us two, skins tangled up in each other. She'd smirk that sexy little smirk of hers, and we'd make love all day, all night. Self sufficient, isolated from reality. But fuck. That bubble of a world doesn't exist. If only this green paper didn't leave a trace.

They'd come for us in no time. _When they take her._..When_ they.. _My actions, treacherous, would be unforgivable. And they'd take her. Without a second thought, they'd snatch her away. I wouldn't be able to protect her.

Heh. Well, fuck. Never thought I'd say some shit like that. "Protect." Chivalry makes me nauseous.

That four letter word has no place in a Turk's world, doesn't exist in our vocabulary. How I had conjured this disease for Jalen in the first place is beyond me. Damn it. Her bones, bursting with fire, challenge, and fight, how I lov—_enjoy_—her.

_Truth or dare, Jalen._

Outside the window, I see the train pass my favorite ramen shop in Sector 7. It's packed with customers piling in from both east and north entrances. I glance at the watch. Its passing means I've got a fleeting ten minutes before I'm at my doorstep. What do I do?

_Answer me, Jay_.

A passenger across from me eyes me down with a suspicious look. I raise an eyebrow and glare right back, challenging them. _Dare, you bastard_. The same way I know Jay would. The same she does to me. _Struggling against me, struggling consistent with me_.

I could hide her.

Somewhere secluded. I'd mislead the Turks off the scent, a wild goose chase. I'd take the nights to erase her tracks, like she never existed, and visit her during breaks. I'd have her change her identity, we could meet under aliases in various hotels and apartments, to avoid being tracked.

_Be honest. _

But Jay... she'd grow bored. She'd start to find things to fight. Start to cause a ruckus. And the Turks would notice. Oh, they would notice, their ears to the ground, would pick up the word—a rowdy out of town stranger causing trouble. One mistake and they'd have her, they'd take her.

_Tell me if you.._

I could turn her in.

_..if you love me._

She wouldn't go willingly. I'd have to deceive her. She tries so hard to stay strong. I've seen what Nibelhiem's memories bring her—it begins with shakes, the chills, then her eyes flash blank as the memories consume her. Like that lifeless doll I found in my alley months ago, limp and cold. Her body temperature drops and I hold her until the heat reaches her and she wakes, feverish and gasping, struggling against me in feigned anger in attempt to cover the tears.

Where will they take her? To the lab? Run more tests on her?

_You stupid, stupid government scum!_

Hojo would be dying to get his grimy hands on my Jalen..._again_. I burn at the thought of his fingers, touching that smooth skin of hers. It makes me sick.

_Why the hell..._

What stupid, stupid ideas.

The train's speed begins to decrease. I don't have much time now.

What do I do? _Come on, daredevil_. What the fuck do I do?

I've held onto the papers so tightly in my hand I've made a deep indent on the front page. I glance down and see her picture.

_I love you..._

The glowing brown eyes, lips pulled into a smirk. _Because..._

I have no choice.

My hands begin to tremble.

_You're the only thing that feels right to me._

As soon as I arrive home...

The train wobbles slightly as we pull up against the platform.

My heart pounds against my ears. What choice do I have?

The train slides to a halting stop.

I have to let her go. I have to let her run. I have to.. And then I have to... I have to...

The doors swing open.

And then I have to hunt her.

I stand, knees trembling, lift my briefcase, and exit the train.

A two minute walk to the apartment. Two minutes until.._When they take her._

Because I'm a Turk. Fucking Reno the Turk. It's my job. It's been ten long years. I've never opposed a single directive. So many bodies I've seen laid out in front of me, pleas and cries as I pulled the trigger. No feeling at all. Just a twitch of a finger and the noise would end. It's become a part of me. What difference would this girl make? Just another check off my list. Isn't that what being a Turk is..? –And the pay I would receive in return. The luxuries the money could buy by turning Jalen in. I'd sip my scotch and smoke my cigar while they strap her to an operation table and split her open.

I feel fucking sick to my stomach.

It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought her to the goddamn company dinner in the first place. I'd become too comfortable, too careless with our quiet (and not so quiet) little existence together, making love each night, holding each other, and pushing each other away. God damn. The contacts weren't enough, and that dress on her. She was glowing, radiant, and impossible to ignore that night. I led a lamb into a lion's den. And why didn't I have the gumption to tell her that night, my feelings? _Say it, Reno_. _Say it. Out loud. Right now._

It's too late now.

We bet high and lost it all in one unlucky roll of the dice.

I open the door to the apartment and set my briefcase down by the door. She's not on the couch where I left her this morning, the sheets she'd been curled up in are folded in a neat square and rested on the arm of the sofa. The kitchen is spotless, wine glasses washed and tucked away. The emptiness hits me like a truck.

Did she leave? My breath stops. I'd understand if she did. I recall the morning, the lipstick smudges all over my cheeks, the ruffled hair and tussled shirt. I bet I still smell like Elena's perfume. That look in Jay's eyes when I opened the door—the hope. Hope that I'd held out. Then the subsequent pain, written all across her bones as she clutched herself, tears streaming down her cheeks—knowing the hope had been in vain.

I scramble down the hall and yank the door to my room open. I sigh in relief. There she is. The room is immaculate, clothes stored away, the bed made. And there she sits. Cross-legged at the edge of the bed by the window, her back to me. Her midnight black hair tapers down her back, the white bed sheets inflated, cradling the indentation her petite body makes. The sunset bleeds through the blinds in golden stripes, silhouetting her in a faint white glow.

Her gaze is fixed out the window. Still as a statue. But she knows I'm here.

My heart skips. She's still here.

_Directive 721.. _

I gaze at her, feeling helpless. What do I do? The words are tangled in the pit of my stomach, a bundle of cobwebs caught on jagged edges. I swallow to clear them out, but to no avail. It's silent.

I sit, back to her at the opposite edge of the bed.

"Jay.." I start, but that's all I can muster, the rest of the words still thick and tousled. There's a long silent pause. What's this dead weight pressing into my breast? Dread. And.. anger, sadness, or is it concern? I take a breath, the air suddenly feels heavy, tastes sour.

"I know," finally, she cracks the silence, her voice steady and slow. "About the assignment." I glance up, a little confused—she knew? How did she..? Who...?

"I'm..." what, sorry? "I..."

"I don't want to play anymore," she says, her tone calm and tender. I wasn't expecting the warmth in her words. I turn and look at her. She's beautiful, a perfect painting. Her face tipped to her shoulder, expression calm, full lashes bordering a solemn gaze towards the ground.

The words have climbed into my chest now, still tangled and unclear.

"I love you," she says—stating a fact. Then she shakes her head. "I _loved_ you." Finally she turns to face me. Her eyes full of clarity and calm. Slowly, the corners of her lips curve up into a gentle smile, and in a flash, fall with a serene moroseness.

This is a new side of her. A battered fighter, subdued. Wounds bound, ready to walk from the field. This weary soldier is coming to terms with a losing battle.

This is my last chance.

I swallow hard. Nothing comes. And again. How fucking hard is it? How hard is it to say the words? My chest is bursting, can't she see? I'm burning and writing from the inside out, but the fire's caught up in my throat now. Can't she see it? Please, tell me you can see it, Jay. I want to grab her by the shoulders, kiss those lips, make her feel safe. Make her feel..

Nothing comes. I'm desperate now. All it'd take is a motion. Damn it, Reno, _move_.

Gently, she lifts herself to her feet and slides around to my side of the bed, standing directly in front of me. I take in her full figure, the long limbs, the illuminate skin, the bright eyes, all cast in a foreign foreboding shadow—the pressure in my chest deepens. _When they take her_..

She leans in gently, and presses her lips softly against mine.

A goodbye kiss.

She pulls away, her face lingering, and meets my gaze with those glowing blue eyes. In those beautiful eyes, the sadness seeps through. Underneath this peaceful façade is evidence of the struggle she's endured today—dark circles encasing her bright eyes, a weariness in her motions, in the pressure of her fingertips over mine in contrast to that dainty smile on her lips. The hours she must have spent pulling herself together from the morning scene, reasoning with herself that she could fight through this one, and then the realization that this was a losing fight.

It suddenly becomes apparent—the damage I've done. I'm ready to finally show my hand, but I'm too late. She's folded. The game has ended.

Gently, she brushes her hand my cheek with those fingers I like. I reach out, longing and awkward, and roll a finger across the top of her hip—that skin I like—as she begins to back away.

She hesitates a moment—as if waiting. Waiting for the words. The words she knows won't come.

Then, in that same moment, she turns on her heel, picks up a duffle bag she's already packed full, and strides out of the room.

I feel my heart pound as she paces down the hall, each beat throbbing in my chest. _The damage I've done..._My breath slows as the footsteps become more distant. The words, Jalen. The words you're waiting for. The words are...

The front door creaks open.

I force open my mouth, my breath stops in its place as it braces for the words..

The door shuts close.

"Jalen, I love you."


End file.
